


Love in a Major Key

by hapakitsune



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Classical Music, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 18:31:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hapakitsune/pseuds/hapakitsune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark and Eduardo's summer fling should have been just that -- a fling. But when they end up in orchestra together, the things they didn't talk about bubble to the surface, and they're both forced to deal with the issues neither of them want to confront. Or, essentially, a high school orchestra au.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love in a Major Key

**Author's Note:**

> Written for **uqangela** for **help_nz**. Thanks to **daisysusan** for beta, and everyone I bothered about this on gchat. This is slightly multimedia; there are a couple of video clips for songs mentioned, but the most important song is at the end of section two. It's not necessary to listen to it, but I'd recommend it.
> 
> Eduardo is 17 (possibly eighteen for parts), Mark is 16. Mentions of Mark/Sean where Sean is several years older than Mark.

“Why are we here?” Mark asked Dustin for the fourth time. He kicked the seat in front of them and scowled.

Dustin smacked Mark on the arm and said, “Because I want to hear the people we’re playing with this year.” He turned slightly red as he said it, which made Mark think that there was another reason that Dustin wasn’t willing to share.

Mark scowled and slumped down in his seat. “I don’t like it here.”

Dustin shushed him as four teenagers walked out onto the small, raised platform. There was a blond boy carrying a violin, a petite dark-haired girl at his side, another dark-haired girl with a viola in hand and --

“Is that Eduardo Saverin?” Mark asked, now mildly interested.

“Knew that would get your attention,” Dustin muttered, though he looked slightly amused.

Eduardo sat down, settling the cello between his legs and smiling at the blond boy. Mark hadn’t known that Eduardo was in string quartet; but then, they hadn’t really talked a lot when they had been around each other.

The blond boy -- who Mark now recognized as Chris Hughes, the junior class president -- led them in tuning, then settled his violin neatly under his chin. The four of them seemed to communicate via eyebrow for a moment, and then Chris lifted his violin, signalling them to begin.

They were shockingly good. Mark wasn’t a huge fan of strings music -- he was only joining symphony orchestra because Mr. Wong said he would find a way to get Mark out of P.E. if he did it -- but he found himself actually enjoying the performance.

This was not because Eduardo bit his lip a lot while he played or because he had to spread his legs wide to hold the cello in place or because the hem of his sleeve kept riding up to reveal his thin wrists.

Mark clapped disinterestedly at the end and said, “Can we go now?”

“No!” exclaimed Dustin, who was still watching the stage. “I want to, um. Talk to Chris.”

“You know Chris?” Mark asked in surprise.

Dustin turned red and said, “I’ve lived next door to him for _ten years_ , of course I know him,” but he sounded kind of stiff and awkward.

“Fine,” said Mark, slumping back in his seat. He waited while the audience dissipated, then followed Dustin up to the stage as the quartet gathered up their instruments, laughing and talking amongst themselves.

“Chris!” Dustin called, a bit too loud. They all turned to look down at Dustin and Mark, which made Mark duck his head awkwardly, but Chris lit up, a huge smile spreading across his face.

“Dustin! I didn’t think you’d actually come!” Chris slipped nimbly off the stage and gave Dustin a slightly awkward hug, given that he was still holding his violin in one hand. “How did we sound?”

“Amazing,” Dustin said sincerely, his eyes wide. “You know Mark, right? He plays oboe.”

Mark lifted his hand in greeting. Eduardo’s head jerked up and he met Mark’s eyes, looking slightly panicked. Mark smiled ironically at him and said, “Hi.”

“Oh, yeah,” Chris said, smiling. “You were at Erica’s party last year, right?”

Eduardo ducked his head and busied himself with his cello. Mark said, “Yeah, I was.”

“I thought so.” Chris brushed his hair from his eyes. “So I guess we’ll see you on Friday for our first rehearsal?”

“Yeah!” Dustin said enthusiastically. Mark didn’t pay any attention; he was too busy trying to see if Eduardo would look up. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t.

 

“Well, that wasn’t awkward,” Dustin huffed out irritably as they went out to his piece of shit car. “Could you and Eduardo keep the sexual tension down next time? It harshes my game.”

“Your game?” Mark asked in disbelief. “You have no game, Dustin.”

“I totally have game!” Dustin said. “More than you. You don’t even have a car.”

“This is not a car,” Mark said. “This is sheet metal held together with hope.”

“Better than what you have, which is a car made of dreams.” Dustin unlocked the doors. “Come on.”

Mark got into the passenger seat, sulking a little, and crossed his arms. “He didn’t even say hi to me,” he grumbled. “I’ve had his tongue in my mouth and he didn’t even say hi to me.”

“I wouldn’t talk to you if I’d had my tongue in your mouth,” Dustin said. “That’s gross.”

“I don’t want your tongue in my mouth either,” said Mark. “Why are we talking about this?”

“I’m not the one who had sex with Eduardo,” Dustin said, pulling out of the parking lot and heading towards Mark’s house.

“I never had sex with him,” Mark mumbled. “It never got that far.”

“That’s pathetic,” Dustin said. “I’ve had sex.”

“Yeah, once,” said Mark.

“One more than you,” Dustin sang, grinning hugely. Mark scowled and wished that he didn’t rely on Dustin for rides to school.

Later, when they were playing Mario Kart, Dustin paused the game and said, “Wait. You _never_ had sex? You only macked?”

“Macked?” Mark asked, button-mashing his controller in a futile attempt to make the game start again. “Really?”

“Answer the question,” Dustin said.

Mark sighed and said, “No, we never had sex.” He didn’t say that every time he had tried to go for Eduardo’s zipper, Eduardo had pushed his hands away and then gotten up. Mark could take a hint.

“You spent half the summer blowing me off for him and you didn’t even have sex?” Dustin shook his head incredulously. “I can’t believe you.”

Mark bit the inside of his cheek to keep from answering and leaned over to press the start button on Dustin’s controller.

 

Rehearsal for orchestra began that Friday. When fourth period came, Mark and Dustin and the other wind ensemble members who were in orchestra trooped to the other end of campus to the auditorium where the orchestra rehearsed. Mark grumbled the whole way. He had successfully avoided orchestra for the past two years by virtue of the fact that he had simply refused to audition. However, it was undisputed that he was the best oboist at the school and there was no longer anyone else who could take his place, so the band director and the orchestra conductor had ganged up on him and forced him to participate in exchange for getting his P.E. credits waived.

Erica, who played flute, finally snapped and said, “Mark, you are in orchestra and you will just shut up and accept it, okay? It’s fun.”

“The focus is always on the strings,” Mark griped, though he knew that wasn’t entirely true. He just liked arguing with Erica.

Erica rolled her eyes dramatically and sped up to draw even with Amy, who played trombone in marching band, but played clarinet in orchestra and wind ensemble. She appreciated the challenge of marching with the trombone, she claimed, though Mark suspected that she kind of liked showing off. He could understand that.

“Why didn’t you want to do orchestra?” asked Dustin, who had patiently waited for the other trumpet players to graduate so he could play with the strings. “It looks good on college applications if you do both.”

“I don’t care about college applications,” Mark said. “I just prefer band, all right? It’s just as good as orchestra.” He scowled and kicked at the ground. “The orchestra doesn’t even do competitions.”

“Yeah,” agreed Dustin easily. “That’s kind of what makes it fun.”

They filed into the auditorium, where the strings were already warming up. Ms. Delpy was talking to Chris, who looked very serious and earnest. Dustin waved energetically at him and Chris smiled a little. Ms. Delpy looked around and smiled at the arrivals.

“Come on in,” she said, gesturing. “Take your seats. I’ve put the music on the stands already, so you should be able to find your seats.”

To Mark’s private dismay, his seat was back and to the left of the cello section, which meant that he had a clear view of Eduardo’s back and the side of his cheek. K.C., the other oboist, sat down next to Mark and took out her instrument. Mark jerked his gaze away from Eduardo’s stupid hair and looked at the music sitting on his stand. “Polovetsian Dances” by Borodin. He didn’t recognize the name, but it looked like he had a good part, so he settled in, satisfied.

It wasn’t a bad rehearsal. They were all pretty much sight-reading the music, which made it a bit of a challenge, but Ms. Delpy took them through the entire piece once so they could get a feel for it, and then she played them a couple of recordings so they could hear how it was meant to sound. Despite himself, Mark found himself getting mildly interested, and when the bell rang at the end of the class, he gathered up his music and instrument while humming his part absently.

He reached the door to the auditorium at the same time as Eduardo. They both stopped and looked at each other awkwardly. After a moment, Eduardo said, “Hi, Mark,” and then blushed, dropping his gaze.

“Hi, Wardo,” Mark said, which made Eduardo even more flustered because Mark had only used that when they were alone -- which, maybe Mark had done it on purpose. Maybe.

“I’m going -- lunch,” Eduardo said nonsensically, and he hurried out the door, careful not to brush Mark as he passed. Mark tilted his head to watch Eduardo’s ass as he went, in the vague hope that Eduardo would look back and get embarrassed.

But Eduardo’s attempts to avoid him ultimately came to nothing, because after Mark had stashed his oboe in his locker and picked up his lunch from his locker, Dustin grabbed Mark’s hand and towed him to the cafeteria and brought him to the table where Chris and Eduardo were sitting with a few girls that Mark recognized from orchestra.

The girl he sat across from smiled and said, “Hi. I’m Alice.”

“Mark,” he muttered, glaring at Dustin. Then he looked at her again and said, “You play viola.”

“Yes,” she said cheerily, opening up her tupperware container, which held what looked like leftover Chinese food. “And you’re our new oboist. You’re _way_ better than the guy we had before.”

“Yeah,” put in the girl he recognized as the violinist from the quartet. “He sucked.” She stabbed at her salad.

“Christy,” Eduardo said, sounding long-suffering. “He wasn’t that --”

“He was _awful_ ,” Christy said firmly. She looked at Mark and pointed at him with her fork. “You are way better.”

“I know,” Mark said. Dustin and Chris snorted in unison. Eduardo looked up and met Mark’s eyes; after a moment, he looked away.

Mark ate lunch in silence, listening to the others talk. Dustin and Chris were talking about their English class, which made no sense to Mark because they’d been in school for _two weeks_ \-- surely there wasn’t anything to talk about yet. Alice and Christy got into a discussion with Billy Olson, who played double bass, leaving Mark and Eduardo as the odd ones out.

But Mark didn’t say a word to Eduardo and Eduardo didn’t say a word to him.

When Mark went home, he sat down at the grand piano in their living room and played violently for two hours before his littlest sister came in and yelled at him to stop. He took his hands off the keys, his fingers feeling slightly stiff, and scowled at her.

“At least play _quieter_ ,” she said feelingly, and she slammed the door shut behind her.

He opened up one of his old Chopin books and began to play [a nocturne that he had played in middle school](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EvxS_bJ0yOU). He almost didn’t need to read the music anymore; his fingers remembered the notes they were meant to play without his input.

He hadn’t wanted to take up piano as a kid, but Randi had played and anything Randi did, Mark had to do too, if only to try to beat her at it. She gave up on the instrument once she was twelve, but Mark, who had started at age three, kept going. There was something nicely solitary about playing piano, something perfect about putting notes together to create something new and transforming. There was a definite sense of _rightness_ with music that there wasn’t in most other areas of life. Either he hit the note or he didn’t -- and Mark prided himself on the fact that he almost always did.

At the third hour, his mother looked in and said gently, “Mark, you need to eat something,” and waited patiently until he had gotten to his feet before asking, “Is everything all right?”

“I’m fine,” he said grumpily, squeezing past her toward the kitchen.

“All right,” she said dubiously, but she didn’t press him for any more information.

He didn’t talk during dinner, thinking darkly about Eduardo and mentally cursing Mr. Thiel and Ms. Delpy for forcing him into it. After finishing dinner, he excused himself to go upstairs to work on his homework and practice his oboe.

 

Mark took to eating lunch with Erica, even though they weren’t close, because Dustin insisted on sitting with Chris at every meal. Mark didn’t really want to sit there and pretend not to notice that Eduardo was ignoring him, so he instead sat with Erica and KC and KC’s boyfriend Divya. Amy sometimes joined them, but she was in about fifteen clubs so she was usually pretty busy.

To Mark’s utter annoyance, Ms. Delpy gave them selections from The Nutcracker at their next rehearsal. His youngest sister had danced ballet since she was three and he had seen the stupid production every year. He said as much to Dustin, who rolled his eyes and said, “Deal with it.”

Mark managed to get through most of the next week without having to see Eduardo; but after rehearsal on the third Friday, Eduardo cornered him and demanded, “Why are you avoiding me?”

Mark bristled instantly. “Avoiding _you_?” he snapped. “You’re the one who can’t even look at me!”

Eduardo went red and said, “I -- that’s not -- it, I’m not mad at you.”

“Why should you be?” asked Mark nastily. “You dumped me.”

“I didn’t dump you,” protested Eduardo.

“No, you just didn’t want anyone to know we weren’t dating,” Mark snapped. “I’m sorry I’m so _embarrassing_.”

“That’s not it and you know that,” said Eduardo, voice cracking a little. “It has nothing to do with you.”

“‘It’s not you, it’s me’?” Mark asked in disbelief. “That’s what you’re going with?”

Eduardo set his jaw and he said coolly, “If you don’t want to listen, then fine.”

“I was ready to do anything you wanted,” Mark said. “I -- I don’t usually like people, Wardo.”

Eduardo flinched at his nickname and whispered helplessly, “Mark.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. Then they both lunged for each other at the same time, bumping noses in their eagerness. Mark snorted and grabbed the back of Eduardo’s head, holding him still. Eduardo groaned into his mouth and fisted his hands in Mark’s shirt.

When they separated, Eduardo looked completely ravished and Mark suspected he didn’t look much better. Eduardo grinned, said, “Um, bye,” and then ran out of the auditorium.

Mark rubbed his mouth and wished he had the willpower to tell Eduardo no. He trudged out and went to eat lunch with Erica again, and didn’t say a word to anyone for the rest of the day.

 

Eduardo unexpectedly turned up at Mark’s house on Sunday with his cello and looking slightly nervous. “I, um,” he said, stuttering a little, “you told me this summer that I could use your recording equipment? For my college auditions?”

“Oh,” Mark said blankly. “I guess.” He opened the door wider to let Eduardo in and waited as Eduardo wheeled in his cello. “I thought -- you’re still applying to music colleges?”

Eduardo didn’t meet Mark’s eyes as he said, “Just a couple.” Mark rolled his eyes and led Eduardo to the living room.

Eduardo settled down on a chair and took out his cello while Mark fiddled with the recording equipment. Mark had been pretty sure that Eduardo was going to give up cello in college; pretty much everything he had said had indicated that, even though it was obvious that he loved it. All Eduardo ever seemed to talk about was his father and his duties and his responsibilities, which got old quick.

Eduardo began to warm up with scales, and Mark tried not to look over. It was difficult; Eduardo was a wonderful musician, with a warmth and strength to his playing that reflected his personality. It was -- distracting.

Mark scowled to himself and finished fiddling with the microphones. He poked at the laptop he kept downstairs and said, “Give me a second.”

Eduardo nodded and adjusted the music stand. When Mark gave him the thumbs up, he began to play [a song that Mark had heard many times before](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dZn_VBgkPNY). Mark watched him play, the way Eduardo closed his eyes and leaned into his instrument like it was an extension of his body, and couldn’t imagine Eduardo leaving that behind for a life of a businessman. It seemed completely wrong.

Eduardo played through the song three times before he was satisfied, then he moved onto a few other pieces. Mark half-listened, more concerned with watching the levels on his computer. When Eduardo finished, Mark turned off the microphones and they both sat there in silence for an awkward moment.

Mark cleared his throat and said stiffly, “It sounded good.”

Eduardo jumped in surprise, then flushed and replied, “Thank you. I -- I’m probably not going to get in anywhere, but I might as well -- I might as well try, right?” He raised his chin stubbornly and met Mark’s eyes.

Mark shrugged. “You should do what you want,” he said simply, getting to his feet. “Other people’s opinions only matter if they’re in the way of your success.”

“I wish I agreed with that,” Eduardo said, mostly under his breath. He put his cello down carefully and stood, leaning over Mark like a scarecrow. “I -- thank you. For your help.”

Mark’s mouth twisted up in a wry smile. “Sure,” he said.

Eduardo looked at him with his huge, sad eyes, his mouth pressed into a thin, worried line. “I -- I mean, when I told you --”

“When you told me to stop coming around your house?” Mark supplied, narrowing his eyes.

Eduardo had the decency to look embarrassed at that, which was part of the problem. Mark could have dealt with Eduardo if he was an asshole. But no, he had to be so _nice_ that it was vaguely sickening.

“It wasn’t because I don’t -- I just can’t,” Eduardo said wretchedly. He was actually _wringing his hands_. “I _can’t_ date you, Mark.”

“Were we dating?” Mark asked.

“I guess we weren’t,” Eduardo said, sounding even guiltier. “I wish -- but I am going to college and I --”

“And your father doesn’t know you’re gay,” Mark said, rolling his eyes. “Yeah. I’d gathered that part.”

“Oh.” Eduardo looked down, then burst out, “It’s just, I need him to pay for college, you know? And I figure -- I figure if I go somewhere like Yale or maybe Harvard where I can play in an orchestra but still do business like he wants, maybe he’ll be okay about it. Eventually.”

“I get it,” Mark said. “Come on, we have leftover pierogis from Friday.”

“Pierogi?” Eduardo asked, sounding intrigued.

Mark shrugged. “My mom has a thing for making food from ‘the homeland’ on Fridays, since we don’t do proper Shabbat dinners. My dad made kugel, but my sisters ate all of it already.”

“Oh,” Eduardo said. “That -- that sounds nice.”

Mark threw a look back at Eduardo, surprised. “I guess,” he said. “You might as well eat it.”

Mark heat up the food for Eduardo and made himself a tuna sandwich. Eduardo was about to start eating when Mark remembered something and said, “Hold on.” He got up and dug out the container of applesauce. “Here.”

Eduardo looked at it for a long moment, his mouth working a little. He smiled slowly and said, “Thanks.”

“It’s better with it,” Mark said gruffly. He ate his sandwich without looking at Eduardo, but then Eduardo bumped their knees together. Mark smiled involuntarily.

“Ha,” Eduardo said under his breath, sounding pleased. When Mark looked over, Eduardo had bent back over his plate and was smiling to himself.

Eduardo left after eating lunch. He packed up his cello slowly and lingered at the door before smiling a little and saying, “Thanks.”

Mark shrugged and said, “You’ll get in.”

Eduardo shook his head, but didn’t say anything. He raised his hand briefly in farewell and headed out to his car. Mark watched him go, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth.

 

On Monday, Mark sucked it up and went to sit with Dustin and Chris. To his surprise, Erica came with him, saying in an undertone that she was pretty sure that KC and Divya were having a fight and she didn’t want to be around them. She was immediately drawn into conversation with Christy and Alice, who she apparently knew through some club.

Chris smiled at Mark and said, “Hey. How was your weekend?”

Mark’s gaze involuntarily slipped towards Eduardo, who was actually looking at him today. Eduardo smiled and said, “Mark helped me with my audition tapes.”

“Your audition tapes?” Chris asked, turning to look at Eduardo in surprise. “So you’re going for it?”

Eduardo’s smile grew a little fixed, but he managed to nod. “Yes,” he said firmly. “Yes, I am.”

“But what about –“ started Chris, frowning.

“I don’t care,” Eduardo said sharply. “It doesn’t matter what he thinks.”

Mark glanced at Dustin, who was watching with wide eyes, his fork frozen in midair. After a moment, Dustin looked at Mark and mouthed, _What are they talking about?_

Mark shrugged; it was Eduardo’s story to tell, if he wanted to. He busied himself with eating, not looking up until Eduardo and Chris’s whispered argument came to an end.

“How did the recordings sound?” asked Eduardo after a long moment. Mark looked up and swallowed hastily.

“Good,” he said awkwardly. “I’ll send them to you.”

Eduardo flashed another one of those lightning quick smiles that Mark had once treasured, and pulled out his planner. He scribbled something down, ripped the sheet out, and passed it to Mark. “Email it to me.”

“Sure,” Mark said. He looked at Eduardo’s elegant handwriting for a moment, then folded the paper up and slipped it in his pocket.

Dustin coughed pointedly. Mark kicked him under the table and smiled when Dustin yelped.

 

“So what’s going on with you and Eduardo?” Dustin asked when he drove Mark home. Mark rolled his eyes and slunk down in his seat.

“Nothing,” he muttered. “We’re being – friendly.”

“Really,” Dustin said skeptically.

“Like how you and Chris are friendly,” Mark said nastily, and Dustin reached over to punch him in the shoulder.

“Asshole.” Dustin didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he said careful, “But – this time, I – you were kind of insufferable after he broke up with you.”

“We weren’t really dating,” Mark said.

“Whatever. He kicked you to the curb and you were annoying after it.” He turned into Mark’s driveway. “So, you know. Be careful, I guess.”

“I was not insufferable,” Mark said.

“You were,” Dustin said firmly. “You talked even less than usual and scowled all the time. At least when you were doing whatever with him, you smiled occasionally.”

“Why do you care?” asked Mark.

“We’re friends. Now get out of my car.” Dustin unlocked the doors and waited for Mark to get out. “At least get laid this time!”

Mark gave him the finger and went into his house.

The thing was, Dustin was right. The weeks Mark and Eduardo had spent making out in corners hadn't been the most physically satisfying – Mark had jerked off more times in those six weeks than in any other time in his life – but Mark had been happy, more or less. Eduardo was attractive, good-smelling, and above all, actually wanted to make-out with Mark, a combination of qualities that no one else possessed.

Mark hadn't really expected anything more – but he didn't like being Eduardo's dirty little secret, either. At least Eduardo was talking to him, he thought grumpily, his mood taking a nasty downturn.

Mark practiced piano for two hours – his teacher, a slightly nerdy man named Bill, insisted that Mark practice at least one hour a day – and then did his homework while he ate dinner. His mother had given up trying to convince Mark not to do that at age thirteen, so he wasn't forced to talk to his sisters or his parents.

He jerked off to the memory of Eduardo's mouth and the way he leaned into his cello when he played. He wiped himself off with a tissue and collapsed into bed, exhausted. As he drifted off to sleep, he realized he hadn't emailed Eduardo yet. He would wait a little, he thought. Maybe it would make Eduardo talk to him again.

 

Eduardo was leaning against Mark's locker when Mark arrived at school with Dustin. Dustin snorted and scurried off to his own locker, muttering something under his breath. Eduardo straightened up and smiled at Mark, looking a little hesitant.

"Hi," he said.

"Hey," Mark said, gesturing Eduardo aside so he could open up his locker. "What do you want?"

"I want to say hi," Eduardo said, a little indignantly. "Is that a problem?"

"Oh," said Mark. "I guess not."

Eduardo deflated slightly. "Okay." He smiled suddenly. "You didn’t send me the recordings.”

“I forgot,” Mark said vaguely, shoving his books aside aimlessly. “Sorry.”

Eduardo put his hand on Mark’s shoulder and Mark went very still, waiting. Eduardo squeezed gently. “Mark,” he said, voice low.

“Yes?” Mark asked, his voice remarkably steady.

“You --” Eduardo broke off and moved his hand away. “Never mind.”

Mark stood rigid and unmoving until Eduardo had backed away. He let out a small breath and yanked his books out of his locker to put them in his backpack. When he slammed his locker shut, Eduardo was still standing there, waiting.

“What?” demanded Mark.

“Our first classes are near each other,” he said, ignoring Mark’s attitude. “Come on.” He reached out and grabbed Mark’s wrist, tugging hm. Mark made a half-hearted attempt to pull away, but Eduardo only tightened his grip, stubborn as always.

They passed Dustin as they went, who looked at them with suspicious eyes before looking down at Eduardo’s grasp on Mark’s wrist. Mark gritted his teeth and tried to ignore Dustin’s disapproving look.

The problem was that once Eduardo had fixated on something, it was difficult to shake him, and he had fixated on Mark. Every time Mark turned around, Eduardo seemed to be there, determined to make Mark be his -- something. Mark still wasn’t sure what Eduardo wanted from him. He hadn’t made any further moves to kiss Mark or ask him out -- not that Mark _expected_ him to -- and Mark was starting to get impatient.

“Wardo,” he said finally on Friday after lunch, as everyone was collecting their belongings and heading to class, “you should come over this weekend.”

Eduardo’s eyes lit up. “Really?” he asked breathlessly.

Mark resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll give you your recording. We can make it into a proper CD and stuff.”

“Oh, it doesn’t have to be a CD,” Eduardo said, but then he seemed to realize what Mark was getting at. “Right,” he said. He looked around furtively. He bent over on the pretext of helping Mark pick up his books and brushed his lips against the corner of Mark’s mouth. Mark startled, his eyes going wide. Eduardo, blushing and grinning, said, “Bye, Mark!” and he ran off to class, his long legs carrying him away too quickly for Mark to catch up with.

Mark touched the spot Eduardo had kissed and let out a small breath.

 

Eduardo came over on Saturday afternoon. To Mark’s eternal horror, Arielle was the one who answered the door and she shouted up the stairs, “Mark, your cute friend is here!”

Mark said, “I’m upstairs!” and waited until Eduardo turned up at his door, out of breath and dressed down in jeans and an untucked shirt.

Mark barely had time to close the door before Eduardo was on him, kissing him so fiercely that Mark banged his head against the wood. Mark fisted his hands in the front of Eduardo’s shirt, gasping, and then his eyes rolled back in his head when Eduardo pushed a knee between his thighs.

He pulled away to hiss, “My _parents_ are home!”

“Then be quiet,” Eduardo hissed back, and he kissed Mark again, rolling his hips in a _really distracting_ way. Mark groaned and rucked up Eduardo’s shirt, getting his first feel of Eduardo’s skin. For once, Eduardo didn’t pull away -- he actually pushed into the touch with a soft sigh.

“Are you going to let me touch your penis this time?” Mark asked bluntly.

“Penis is such an unsexy word,” complained Eduardo, but he did grab Mark’s hand and guide it to his zipper, so Mark considered it a win. He yanked Eduardo’s jeans open and then fell to his knees, ignoring Eduardo’s squawk of protest, and pulled Eduardo’s cock out.

He took a moment to just look at it. He had spent many frantic, sweaty nights imagining what Eduardo’s dick would look like and it was -- well, better than he could have imagined. He swiped his thumb over the swollen tip and heard Eduardo gasp. Emboldened, Mark leaned forward and traced the same path with his tongue. Eduardo swore and fell forward to brace his hands against the door.

Mark had only given a blowjob once before, when he was fifteen and drunk and Sean Parker from the drumline had kissed him during the homecoming game afterparty. It had been fine -- Sean was nice enough to let Mark rub off on him, though he had been too crossfaded to actually help Mark get there -- but this was so much better. Eduardo was breathless and panting above him, his dick hot and heavy on Mark’s tongue, and best of all, it was _Eduardo_. Mark gripped Eduardo’s thighs and tongued along the underside of his dick.

“Mark, you’re,” Eduardo panted, his hands slipping against the wall. “You’re --”

Mark pulled off with a wet pop and said facetiously, “I thought we were going to be quiet.”

Eduardo stared down at him with huge dark eyes and then dropped a hand into Mark’s hair. “Yeah,” he breathed. “But I want you. Come on, get up.”

Mark was pretty sure that Eduardo was the only seventeen year-old boy who would turn down a blowjob and was about to say as much when Eduardo reached out and tugged off Mark’s hoodie. Mark lifted his arms obediently, his shirt coming off with it, and Eduardo let out a soft breath as he let his hands roam across Mark’s skinny chest.

“Come on,” Mark said impatiently, “get to the point.”

“Take off your pants and I will,” Eduardo said, moving towards Mark’s bed. Mark nearly fell over trying to take off his jeans. Eduardo snorted from where he had sprawled out on Mark’s untidy bed, looking completely out of place. Mark yanked off his boxers and Eduardo’s eyes went wide.

“Wow, you’re -- kind of big,” he said, sounding breathless. Mark shrugged self-consciously and reached down to stroke his dick. Eduardo made a choked sound.

Mark crawled onto the bed, overly aware of how naked his body was. Eduardo grabbed him by the arms and tugged Mark down on top of him. Mark let out an involuntary gasp at how warm Eduardo was, at the wet drag of Eduardo’s dick against his thigh. Eduardo grinned and kissed him again, hand snaking down between them go grab a hold of Mark’s dick.

If Mark hadn’t been lying mostly on top of Eduardo, he would have fallen over. Eduardo’s fingers were hesitant, but his touch jolted arousal through Mark, bringing him dangerously close to coming. He gritted his teeth, determined not to come before Eduardo, and retaliated by licking his hand and wrapping his fingers around Eduardo’s dick.

“Yeah,” Eduardo breathed, and he bit Mark’s lip as he spilled over Mark’s hand, chest heaving. His hand slowed on Mark until Mark kneed him in the thigh. Then Eduardo got back to it, staring down between them with a hungry expression on his face. “Come on, Mark,” he whispered, voice cracking, and Mark came all over Eduardo’s chest.

Later, after they had both recovered, Eduardo got up and went to mess with Mark’s computer until he hit play on iTunes. A moment later, the familiar opening notes of _Rhapsody in Blue_ stretched out over them, curling around Mark like an old friend.

“I love this piece,” Eduardo said dreamily, lying back on Mark’s bed. He hummed along softly, his eyes drifting closed. Mark lay down, mostly on top of him, and watched his face, still amazed that Eduardo was his to touch, to kiss. He ghosted a finger down Eduardo’s nose, smirking when Eduardo twitched.

"I wanted to play piano," Eduardo said, not opening his eyes. "But I wasn't very good at reading the music. When we picked out instruments in Brazil, I just – I knew I had to play cello."

Mark propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at Eduardo. He knew that Eduardo had immigrated to the country when he was eleven, but Mark had never heard him talk about it before. "You chose well."

"My mom used to play her recording of Gershwin performing this," Eduardo continued, not listening to Mark. "I wanted to be able to play like him."

"So why you didn't try?" Mark asked.

Eduardo opened his eyes and looked up at him. "I did, for two weeks. I couldn't do it." He pulled Mark back down to him and kissed his forehead. "I bet you could play this.”

“Probably,” Mark agreed, trailing his fingers through the drying semen on Eduardo’s chest and stomach. “Should I?”

“Only if you want to,” Eduardo said, closing his eyes. Mark looked at him for a moment, then settled in to watch him sleep.

 

Mark must have dozed off at some point, because the next thing he knew, his mother was calling his name and Eduardo was jerking awake next to him, looking horror struck.

“I’m covered in -- in --”

“Jizz?” Mark supplied helpfully.

“Yes, that,” Eduardo said, going red. “That’s your _mom_!”

Mark made a face and said, “Chill out.” He slid out of bed and grabbed his boxers and sweatpants. “I’ll get you a washcloth.”

When he turned back, Eduardo was clutching the sheets to his chest like a distressed woman in an old film. “What if she comes in here?” he hissed.

“I’ll make sure she doesn’t,” Mark said with more patience than he really felt. “Put some clothes on, though.”

Eduardo blushed harder and pulled the sheets up to his chin. “Go,” he said, and Mark went, shaking his head.

When he came back, Eduardo had wriggled into his briefs and jeans, but was still looking at his chest in dismay. Mark thrust out the dampened cloth and said, “Here.”

“Thanks,” Eduardo said. He scrubbed at his skin for a moment, then handed it back as he went looking for his shirt. Mark unapologetically watched him, taking in the small ass, the thin hips, the skinny legs. He wanted to trace his tongue over every inch of him. He shifted uncomfortably and reminded himself that his mother was calling for him.

Eduardo turned, tugging one of Mark’s hoodies over his shirt. Mark raised his eyebrows. Eduardo said defensively, “I’m cold!” and crossed his arms.

Mark looked at him for a moment, liking the way Eduardo looked in his sweatshirt, then shrugged and said, “Whatever. Come on, she’ll just keep yelling if we don’t go.”

Eduardo trailed behind Mark down the stairs to where Mark’s family was waiting. Donna was smirking at Mark all knowingly while Arielle just excitedly greeted Eduardo and showed him where to sit for dinner.

“Oh, I really should go home,” he started to say, edging toward the door.

“Don’t be silly,” Mark’s mom said. “Sit, eat. It’s not often Mark has friends over and we already know everything about Dustin.”

Eduard sat, but only after looking pleadingly at Mark. Mark, who knew his mother well, didn’t come to his rescue. His mom would only find a new and inventive way of learning about Eduardo.

“So,” Mark’s mother said briskly, passing around the water pitcher. “I don’t think Mark told us your name.”

“Eduardo Saverin, ma’am,” Eduardo said promptly. “I’m in orchestra with Mark.”

“Really? What do you play?” asked Arielle, perking up.

“Cello,” Eduardo said, smiling at her. Arielle went a little red, but that didn’t deter her from her line of questioning.

“Are you any good?” she asked suspiciously.

“He’s very good,” Mark said, glaring at her. When he looked up, he caught his mother watching him with all-too-knowing eyes. “He’s the head of his section.”

“What grade are you in?” Mark’s dad asked. When Eduardo answered, “Senior,” Mark’s father immediately began interrogating him about where he was applying.

While Eduardo stumbled through a stuttering explanation of his list, Donna leaned over and said, “He _is_ really cute. Does he have a girlfriend?”

“He’s not going to want to date you,” Mark snapped, and she kicked him under the table.

Eduardo finally escaped once they had finished eating, blurting something out about needing to go home and do homework. He took the time to gently touch the back of Mark’s neck as he passed, though, and he didn’t give back the hoodie.

Arielle and Donna scampered off, leaving Mark to help his parents clean up. He could feel his mother watching him, but he refused to look up. Finally, she let out and irritated sigh and said, “Mark, we need to talk about that boy.”

Mark froze, then decided to play dumb. “What about him?”

Mark’s father laughed and said, “We’re not stupid, Mark. The two of you are dating.”

Mark felt like his ears were on fire. “So?”

“And you were upstairs alone for a long time,” his mother said calmly, taking the plates from Mark’s arms. “We just want to be sure you’re being safe.”

“I can’t get pregnant,” Mark said snarkily.

“Yes, but you should be safe anyway.” She looked to Mark’s dad for backup.

“We trust you, Mark,” his dad said, clasping Mark’s shoulder. “And it’s obvious you like him, which is rare enough. We want you to be happy. We just also want you to be healthy.”

“We’re not dating, really,” Mark said grumpily, picking up the glasses and heading for the kitchen. “And I _don’t_ want to talk about it.”

“You’re doing your own laundry,” his mom called, which made Mark go bright red and nearly fumble the glasses. He set the dishes in the sink and resolved to never talk to his parents again.

 

“You’re a traitor,” Mark told Eduardo when he found Eduardo waiting by his locker on Monday. “My parents tried to give me a lecture about using _protection_.”

Eduardo started, looking around furtively, but no one was listening to their conversation. “Mark,” he hissed. “Keep your voice down.”

Mark gritted his teeth and opened his locker so he could hide his expression from Eduardo. When he had recovered himself, he said, “Eduardo, your dick has been in my mouth. You’re still going with the dirty little secret angle?”

“Mark, it’s just --” Eduardo sounded anxious, so Mark moved the door to his locker so he could look at him. “I like you a lot.”

“That’s reassuring,” Mark said.

“I --” Eduardo started. Mark held up his hand.

“Save it,” he said shortly. “You forgot your recording again. Come by this weekend.”

Eduardo’s face lit up and Mark’s stomach twisted with arousal and some slight amount of anger. He suppressed both and gave Eduardo a short nod before heading off to class.

Mark had a feeling that Dustin wouldn’t be happy about what he and Eduardo were doing, so when Dustin asked how things were going, he just shrugged and didn’t respond. Dustin eyed him suspiciously, but was thankfully distracted by Chris before he could pursue it further. Mark knew from bitter experience that once Dustin got an idea in his head, he wouldn’t let it go, and Mark didn’t want to defend his decision.

Saturday couldn’t come soon enough. Mark dragged through his days, doing his work and practicing oboe and piano to distract himself from thinking about Eduardo. Arielle took to wearing her iPod around the house to drown him out and his parents tried asking him at least once a day if something was wrong.

On Saturday morning, Eduardo arrived and Mark answered the door, having waited impatiently for him. Eduardo was practically glowing with excitement, his eyes bright and his cheeks flushed. Mark’s stomach twisted tightly and he tried a smile before reaching out for Eduardo’s hand. He tugged Eduardo upstairs and kissed him as soon as the door to his bedroom was closed behind him.

Eduardo buried his hands in Mark’s hair, his grip tight enough to hurt, and Mark bit him in retaliation. Eduardo gasped and began trailing kisses across Mark’s jaw and down his neck. Mark gasped out, “Wardo, we have -- your recordings?”

“You’re really talking about that right now?” Eduardo asked in disbelief, his mouth blurring the words into Mark’s skin. Mark gave up trying to talk, as that wasn’t really why he had asked Eduardo over, and let Eduardo push him to the bed.

Once they had finished up, Mark got to his feet and pulled his laptop out from under his bed, not bothering to put his clothes back on. Eduardo turned onto his side to watch as Mark pulled up Eduardo’s recording. “Do you need it on a CD?” he asked Eduardo.

“I need the file,” Eduardo said hesitantly, frowning. Mark waved his hand dismissively.

“Never mind. If you do need a CD, you can come back.” He attached the files to an email and sent it with a definitive press of his mouse. He set the computer aside begin and climbed back to lie next to Eduardo. “Where do you want to go?” he asked without thinking.

Eduardo’s expression went curiously blank and shuttered for a moment. Then he leaned back, smiling a dreamily, and said, “Julliard.”

Mark made a small noise that Eduardo took as permission to continue. “I’ve always wanted to go there,” he said softly. “Since I first started playing. Best place in the world for music, right? Not that -- I probably won’t get in anyway, and I should study something practical.” He sounded less sure towards the end, his voice lilting up slightly. Mark recognized the influence of Eduardo’s father in Eduardo’s hesitance.

“Practicality is overrated,” said Mark, even though he believed no such thing. He just thought Eduardo needed to hear it. Maybe no one had ever contradicted his father before and that was -- wrong. Eduardo was capable of so much more than putting on a suit and schmoozing the powerful.

Eduardo squints up at Mark with a half-smile playing around his mouth. “I know you don’t actually think that.”

Mark shrugged, not answering, and laid back down next to Eduardo, their bare shoulders touching. “If you’re good at something, you should do it,” he said after a moment. “It doesn’t matter if it makes sense to other people. Sometimes you might just -- understand better than others.”

Eduardo made a quiet noise of assent, though he remained tense for several minutes before he finally let out a sigh and dragged Mark in close to him.

 

Fall was Mark’s least favorite time of year for one specific reason: marching band.

He had managed to worm out of most of the rehearsals through trickery and lies, but nothing could get him out of performing at the actual home games. He had stubbornly resisted marching by insisting that oboes didn’t march and he had more experience on piano-like instruments anyway, so he played marimba in the pit during the half-time show.

It wasn’t the actual music or the marching that he objected to so much. It was the uniforms, which were a horrible shade of olive green, and the fact that no one gave a shit about the music, and that he was performing to support the assholes who acted like _Mark_ was the waste of space. And Mark had never taken direction well.

The first home game of the season was boring and completely incomprehensible to Mark, who spent most of the game talking to Ashleigh, who played bells so she didn’t have to do a sport or P.E. “Can you believe we get credit for _this_?” she asked in disbelief, gesturing around them. Mark, who had gotten his own credits from the fencing classes he had taken outside of school during his first two years of high school, made a noncommittal noise.

After halftime, the band was released to get food with the strict instructions not to drip _anything_ on their uniforms, so Mark went with Dustin to buy some of the mediocre burgers that the school’s concession stand sold. To his surprise, Eduardo and Chris were waiting at the top of the bleachers. Dustin grabbed Chris in a bear-hug and tugged him off towards the stand, talking loudly about churros, leaving Eduardo and Mark to stare at each other.

“What are you doing here?” Mark asked, shuffling from foot to foot.

“It’s a football game,” Eduardo said with a small smile. “School spirit?”

“No one comes here for that,” said Mark as a group of boys with the school colors painted in stripes across their faces wandered past.

Eduardo rolled his eyes. “Come on,” he said, jerking his head in the direction Dustin and Chris had gone. “You must be hungry.”

They met up with Dustin and Chris in line, and the four of them bought food. Mark mostly forgot his burger as he got into an argument with Chris over the validity of the analytical essays they wrote in English class, which led to a debate about politics (which Chris was annoyingly well-versed in). Eventually, he ended up shouting, “How are you so idealistic?” and Chris just stared at him in disbelief.

“I apologize that I don’t have the same cynicism as you, Mark,” Chris said, rolling his eyes. “You know, sometimes it’s healthy to look at the world positively. You should try it,

Mark spluttered at that, but Amy shouted at them that they had to get back to their seats before he had a chance to refute that. Scowling, Mark thrust the remains of his burger at Eduardo and stomped back to his seat, Dustin snorting behind him as they went.

After the game, Mark intended to argue more with Chris, who Dustin was driving home, but somehow he ended up agreeing to go to Dustin’s house on Saturday and Eduardo said yes too and then suddenly Dustin had arranged a small party that Mark had also _agreed to go to_. Mark missed the days when Dustin didn’t have friends other than him; things were much simpler then.

“More boring, too,” Dustin said when Mark mentioned it. “And I’ve always had other friends. _You’re_ the one who spends all his time cooped up in his house caressing his piano.”

“I do not caress it,” Mark said irritably and didn’t share the fact that he had been trying to learn how to tune pianos so no one else would touch it.

 

Mark showed up late to Dustin’s party because he’d had to walk (Dustin had grumbled about how the host couldn’t just _leave his own party_ to pick up his lazy friend), and by the time he got there, half of orchestra and a third of band was there, playing video games and talking and playing card games. Eduardo was squeezed into a corner of the couch, watching as Amy beat the pants off Dustin at Super Smash Bros, but when he saw Mark, he struggled up and said, “Hi!”

Mark nodded at him and then, compelled by his mother’s voice at the back of his head, asked, “Did you send in your application yet?”

Eduardo suddenly looked a little ill, but he nodded. “I, um, did most of them,” he said. “It’s -- intimidating.”

“Oh god, I _know_ ,” said KC from behind him, and then they started talking about applications and stuff that Mark mostly didn’t care about. Mark sat down cross-legged on the floor and listened absently, his fingers drumming through one of his pieces without him thinking about it. Someone passed him a cup and he drank it without really looking at it. It burned on the way down, but it was kind of pleasant after.

As the night went on, everyone kind of slowed down until most of them were loosely grouped in a circle on the floor, just talking. Eduardo had drooped over onto Mark’s shoulder, warm and pliable. Mark didn’t shrug him off, even though it was uncomfortable. He caught Dustin looking at them and he scowled at him. Dustin made a weird face and then grabbed a cup out of Chris’s hands as Erica tried to pass it over.

“You’re not corrupting him,” Dustin said firmly to Erica, who rolled her eyes in unison with Chris.

“It’s Coke,” Erica said. “And he’s been corrupted before.”

Dustin gasped theatrically. “Chris, who has been corrupting you?”

Eduardo started slipping sideways into Mark’s lap, his eyes drifting closed. Mark patted him awkwardly, not sure what to do. He was pretty sure Eduardo would be embarrassed if he were sober, but he didn’t want to call attention to it by asking someone to help him.

Christy, who was sitting on Mark’s other side, noticed first, and said, “Aww, poor Eduardo is all tired out.”

Mark shook Eduardo’s shoulder gently. “Wardo, come on.”

“Shh,” Eduardo said groggily into Mark’s thigh. “M’sleeping.”

“Yeah, we’ve noticed,” Christy said. She leaned over Mark to flick Eduardo’s head lightly. “Come on.”

Eduardo ignored them all and turned so his face was more firmly pressed into Mark’s leg. Mark bit his lip, uncomfortably aware of the fact that Eduardo’s head was _in his lap_ and that most of the people he knew from school were in the same room as him.

“Maybe I should take him home?” he said hesitantly. “Did he drive here?”

“He gave me his keys,” Alice put in, reaching into her pockets. She tossed them to Mark. “You can get him home?”

“He’s a safer driver than Eduardo is right now,” Dustin said dryly. “Which, you know, isn’t saying much.”

Mark gave him the finger and then pushed at Eduardo. “Wardo, up. I’m taking you home.”

“Oh, good,” Eduardo said dreamily, pulling himself upright. He smiled dopily at Mark.

Mark rolled his eyes and hooked his arm around Eduardo’s waist, doing his best to drag them both upright without toppling over. “Let’s go.”

Trying to walk with a mostly unresponsive Eduardo was difficult, but Mark managed. Eduardo’s car was the obnoxiously nice one sitting in Dustin’s driveway, and Mark poured Eduardo into the passenger seat before getting in front. He was about to start the car when Eduardo opened his eyes suddenly and said, “Not home.”

“What?” Mark asked, startled.

“I don’t want to go home.” Eduardo sounded remarkably clear, even though his eyes were still glassy. “Take me -- not home. I can’t --” He fell into a miserable silence and Mark sighed.

“We can go to my house,” he said, and he pulled out of Dustin’s driveway before he remembered to put the headlights on.

The house was quiet when they got back, and Mark did his best to get Eduardo upstairs without making a lot of noise. Eduardo collapsed into Mark’s bed with a sigh and went to sleep almost immediately. Mark looked at him for a moment, then shed his clothes and put on a pair of sweatpants and a shirt before lying down next to Eduardo. After a moment, Eduardo turned on his side, his face pressing into Mark’s shoulder, his breath hot. Mark froze, not sure what to do, but Eduardo didn’t make any further move to encroach on his space, so Mark closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

Mark woke early the next morning, having spent a restless night with Eduardo, and went downstairs to play piano, music itching under his skin. He sat down at the bench and let out a deep breath before launching into his warm-up exercises.

He segued into practicing a Debussy his teacher had told him to try, going over one passage that he couldn’t seem to get right. He had just figured out the way to make it easier on himself when the door to the living room opened and Eduardo came in, damp from a shower and looking tired still.

Mark lifted his hands from the keys, looking up. Eduardo waved his hand. “No, no, don’t let me distract you.”

“You already have,” Mark pointed out, which made Eduardo huff out a guilty laugh.

“I guess I have,” he agreed. He came further into the room. “Thanks for getting me -- thanks. For last night.”

Mark shrugged and looked down at the keys. “Yeah, whatever.” He smirked a little and added, “Kinda sad that you were that gone after only one drink.”

“It wasn’t --” Eduardo hesitated, then smiled sheepishly. “Maybe. I was -- it’s been a bad week.” He moved across the room to the couch. He lay down, facing Mark, and said, “You can go back to practicing.”

Mark straightened up mechanically, thrown off by Eduardo’s presence. He normally hated having people listen to him practice; it always felt more like a performance. At first, he just tried playing through songs, but after a while he forgot that Eduardo was there and practiced properly, running through passages slowly to get the feel of them.

When he resurface from his music trance, he saw that Eduardo had fallen asleep again. In the morning light that streamed through the windows, Eduardo looked exhausted. Mark decided not to wake him up and went to see if they had anything to eat in the refrigerator. He dug out a yogurt, thought about it for a moment, then took one for Eduardo too. He returned to the living room and sat on Eduardo’s shins.

Eduardo jerked awake, startled, but relaxed when he saw Mark. “I guess I was still tired,” he said, rubbing his face.

“Guess so,” Mark said. He passed a yogurt over along with a spoon. “Breakfast.”

Eduardo sat up without dislodging Mark and began eating, though he seemed to be thinking hard. He finished eating before Mark and set the plastic cup aside, reaching out for Mark. Mark went and let Eduardo kiss him, warm and close and almost -- comfortable. It reminded Mark of the summer, of the weeks of sexual frustration (which were nevertheless some of the best weeks of Mark’s short life), the weeks of discovering that he quite liked guys as long as they looked like Eduardo.

Eduardo nuzzled underneath Mark’s ear and murmured, “Put your food down, Mark,” and Mark belatedly realized he was still holding the cup of yogurt in his left hand. He leaned over to set it down on the coffee table, then moved so that he was straddling Eduardo’s lap.

Mark could get addicted to this, he realized as he kissed Eduardo again. He could get used to the ease of their embraces, the taste of Eduardo on his lips. He fisted his hand in the back of Eduardo’s shirt, lost in the feeling of having Eduardo all around him.

They had been making out for a good few minutes when the door opened and Mark heard Arielle let out a startled yelp. He pulled away from Eduardo and turned to glare at her. Her eyes were huge as she looked from Mark to Eduardo, and then she let out a nervous giggle and said, “Hi!”

“Arielle, _go away_ ,” Mark growled, annoyed.

“I’m telling Randi,” Arielle said cheerily, backing out. “She always thought you were gay --”

“Arielle!” he shouted and she dove out the door before he could find something to throw at her. Eduardo had gone rigid underneath him, his eyes huge.

“Mark -- I have to -- I should be at home,” he said, almost babbling. He practically shoved Mark off of him, tugging his shirt down.

“It’s just my sister,” Mark protested. “Who is she going to tell?”

Eduardo glared at him. Mark glared right back, fed up with Eduardo.

“Where are my keys?” Eduardo asked finally. “I want to go home.”

Mark sighed and said, “Upstairs, on my desk.”

Eduardo marched out of the room. Mark went back to the piano and began to practice aggressively and loudly so that he wouldn’t hear the door slam behind Eduardo.

 

Over the next couple weeks, he threw himself into studying and band and music, determined to ignore Eduardo. Dustin had been right, he thought with great annoyance. Mark wasn’t someone to be ashamed of, and he wasn’t just -- he wasn’t there to be used, he thought angrily on the second Friday, slamming his locker shut.

That Saturday he had his SATs. After, Dustin took him, Chris, and Erica out for lunch so they could complain about the exam. Erica stole fries off of Mark’s plate and remarked that the math had been really easy. Mark pushed his fries towards her so she could eat more.

He could date someone like her, he thought as she and Chris started talking about the essay. Erica was nice and didn’t mind being seen in public with him. She was pretty, too, but when he tried to imagine kissing her, the image just wouldn’t settle right.

Dustin elbowed Mark, startling him out of his musings. “Hey,” he said quietly. “You all right?”

“I’m fine,” Mark said.

And the thing was, he really could live without Eduardo. He still saw him most days -- they shared friends -- but Mark stuck with Dustin and Erica and Amy and didn’t talk to Eduardo if he could help it. Eduardo tried once or twice to say something to Mark, but gave up when Mark just turned on his heel and walked away from him.

It was Amy of all people who called Mark on it first. She grabbed him after one particularly tense rehearsal and said, “Hey, what the hell is up with you and Eduardo? I thought you were friends.”

“We’re not,” Mark tried to say, but she had freakishly strong hands, so he couldn’t yank his arm free.

“Yeah, whatever,” she said. “Look, it’s not really -- I guess it’s not my business --”

“It’s not,” Mark grumbled.

“-- _but_ ,” she said, glaring at him, “it’s been weird and now Eduardo is saying he doesn’t want to come to our anti-Homecoming party because he’s afraid of offending you --”

“Wait, what?” Mark said. “That’s stupid, he can do whatever he wants.”

“Okay,” said Amy, nodding. “Tell _him_ that.”

Mark groaned, but sucked it up during lunch after Amy gave him a pointed look. He sat down next to Eduardo, who started in surprise, and said, “Look, there’s no reason we can’t be friends.”

Eduardo stared at Mark, his dark eyes wide. “Mark,” he started after a moment of silence. “I --”

“We clearly shouldn’t -- you know,” Mark said when Eduardo started to look a bit panicked. “But whatever, we can talk to each other. And you can come to the anti-Homecoming party,” he added. “It’s, you know, if you don’t go to the dance.”

“I usually go with Christy,” Eduardo said. “But she wanted to go to the party instead.”

“Does she know she’s your beard?” Mark asked nastily. He immediately regretted it when Eduardo’s expression went shuttered and closed.

“Mark --”

“Forget it,” Mark said sharply. “You don’t have to give a shit about me, is my point.”

Eduardo looked at Mark with an expression that Mark couldn’t parse. Then he nodded and said, “All right.”

 

The Homecoming game was always a big deal. The school got decorated with the school colors, the Homecoming Court wore stupid outfits, and nearly everyone came out for the actual game itself. The marching band doubled its rehearsals and Mr. Thiel made Mark attend them, insisting that their halftime show had to be great.

To Mark’s mild disgust, both of the Winklevoss twins had made it onto Homecoming Court. One of them -- Mark never could tell them apart -- seemed to like Erica, judging by the way he waved at her from the field, still in his uniform.

Erica waved back, blushing, and rolled her eyes at Mark when he looked at her askance. “He’s _nice_ , Mark,” she said reprovingly.

“Sure,” Mark said dryly.

“He’s coming to the party tonight, you’d better be nice,” she said sharply, poking him in the shoulder. “Don’t do your -- thing.”

“My thing?” Mark asked, arching his eyebrows.

“That thing where you tell a person all of their faults and then they want to kill themselves,” Erica said. “Don’t pretend you don’t do it on purpose,” she added when he frowned. “You like to make people feel bad.”

“I don’t,” Mark said, and he wondered if that’s what it seemed like to people. “I don’t,” he insisted at her look. “I just -- people are really stupid, sometimes.”

Erica burst into laughter and wrapped an affectionate arm around his shoulder, her convulsions of laughter vibrating through him. “See,” she said, “this is why we put up with you.”

Mark didn’t really understand her, but he was willing to go with it when he spotted Eduardo looking over at them with a frown. He clumsily put an arm around Erica’s waist and she leaned into him, still giggling.

After the game, they went to Erica’s house, since she had the biggest backyard and her parents trusted her to clean things up after they were done. The anti-Homecoming party was as essential to the marching band kids as the dance was to everyone else. They didn’t have to dress up, they could get drunk (or not) with their friends, and no one had to dance. Which, Amy always said, was probably for the best.

Mark ended up in a corner with Alice, who was nursing a beer and watching as Dustin tried to DJ with some amusement. She asked Mark something about marching band, which led to them discussing Mark’s fencing and her own time in ballet and then tae kwan do when she had outgrown pointe shoes.

“Proper ballet is so time-consuming,” she explained. “Now I know how to beat you up, so I think I went the right way.” She smiled toothily. “And I don’t need a sword to do it.”

“Fencing is more about -- it’s like chess,” Mark tried to explain, gesturing, and eventually she made him promise to show her sometime even though he hadn’t properly fenced in years.

“I’ll teach you how to punch someone,” she offered in return, which Mark thought might be a good thing to know.

Eventually, Alice got up to dance with Christy, leaving Mark in his corner. He leaned against the wall and looked around the room. He spotted Erica with her Winklevoss twin, the two of them so absorbed in conversation that they hadn’t noticed that KC and Divya had gotten over their latest fight by making out. Dustin had finally gotten the music going and was DJ-ing with an intense look on his face. Amy and Chris were sprawled out on the floor, playing cards with some other band members. And Eduardo --

Eduardo was coming over to Mark with a determined expression on his face. Mark had no way to escape him, and could only wait while Eduardo came towards him. Eduardo sat down next to Mark and said, without preamble, “We can be friends.”

“A bit late,” Mark said.

“It’s never too late,” Eduardo said, which was so obviously false that Mark had to refute it, but he had no sooner opened his mouth than Eduardo had reached out to cover his lips. “Don’t argue.”

Mark glared, attempting to convey with his eyes how little he appreciated being silence. Eduardo grinned at him, seeming more cheerful than usual, and dropped his hand. “Fine,” Mark said. “We’re friends. Without benefits.”

Eduardo snorted, apparently just tipsy enough not to mind the reference to their -- now former -- sex life. “Yeah. No benefits at all.” He leaned into Mark and said in a confiding sort of tone, “Ms. Delpy said she would talk to people she knew about my applications.”

“Your conservatory applications?” Mark asked.

“Yeah, I --” Eduardo stopped abruptly. “This is boring, you don’t want to hear this.”

Mark shrugged. “I like listening to you talk,” he said.

Eduardo looked at him for a long moment, then began to talk about his applications, the essays he had written for business schools. Mark listened and didn’t interrupt, just let the words spill out of Eduardo.

“Ms. Delpy is talking to some people for me,” he said, sounding hopeful. “She really thinks I can do it.”

Mark rolled his eyes. “Of course you can. You’re a college’s wet dream. An immigrant who gets great grades and is popular?”

“I’m not popular,” Eduardo protested, sounding embarrassed.

“People like you,” Mark said stubbornly. “They like you and they want to spend more time with you.”

“I don’t want them to let me in because of that,” Eduardo muttered. Mark understood what he meant; it would more satisfying to be admitted based on talent, but Mark also knew that sometimes you had to take advantage of other people if you wanted to succeed.

“Take it,” Mark said firmly. “Who cares why you get in as long as you’re in, right?’

Eduardo gave Mark a look and slumped over his knees. “I shouldn’t have applied,” he muttered.

“I’m your friend, right?” Mark asked Eduardo, who nodded. “Then you’re supposed to listen to me. If you hadn’t applied, you would be an idiot. If you get in, you should go, no matter what.”

There was a brief silence. Mark scratched at his chin and wondered if he had gone too far. Then Eduardo leaned against him and said, “Thanks, Mark.”

 

Being friends with Eduardo was much easier than Mark had expected. They kept a careful distance between them, but they could speak civilly and be in the same room together without anything weird happening. Sometimes, Eduardo would reach out as though he wanted to touch Mark; then he would remember himself and offer a weird, twisted smile.

Mark told himself he didn’t care. He hadn’t asked for Eduardo to kiss him after Erica’s party, and he hadn’t done anything wrong. Eduardo was the one with the problem.

So Mark practiced and did his homework and cleaned the house when his mom made him and didn’t think about Eduardo except sometimes when he was in the shower or occasionally when he couldn’t sleep. In orchestra, they rehearsed and rehearsed as they inched closer to the winter concert. Ms. Delpy seemed to like Mark; she never picked on him in class and sometimes let him eat lunch in the auditorium if he didn’t feel like eating with his friends.

On one of those days, Chris hung back too, his violin still out. He smiled sheepishly at Mark and said, “I have to -- I have a solo in the strings piece. Do you mind if I practice?”

Mark shrugged, biting into his sandwich. Chris cleared his throat, adjusted his stance, and started playing, his forehead creased in concentration. Mark forgot his sandwich after a moment, wrapped up in watching Chris played. He had never been hugely fond of violins, but he could appreciate any instrument when it was well-played, and Chris was exceptionally good. Mark had known he must be, to be concertmaster of the orchestra, but it was one thing to know that intellectually and another to hear the full range of Chris’s capabilities.

Chris played for twenty minutes, running over a few sections with deceptive ease. Mark finished eating while he watched Chris practice, and then he just sat and watched. Chris finished off with an impressive flourish and sank down into his seat, looking winded.

“You’re very good,” Mark observed and Chris laughed, rubbing his forehead with the back of the hand holding his bow.

“Thanks.” He set his violin down and pulled out an energy bar. He unwrapped it without meeting Mark’s eyes, his cheeks flushed. “I’ve never -- Ms. Delpy suggested that I try it, you know? I’ve never soloed liked this before.”

“It’s just high school orchestra,” Mark said. Chris gave him a look, then moved so he was sitting closer to Mark, leaving his violin on the chair behind him.

“Do you --” Chris hesitated, looking like he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. “Eduardo, he, um. He likes you a lot.”

Mark blinked and said slowly, “All right.”

“I don’t know him all that well,” Chris confessed in a low voice. “We’re friends, but we don’t, you know, do stuff together. And he doesn’t talk to me about a lot of stuff, but he seems to trust you. Is he...okay?”

“He doesn’t trust me,” Mark said automatically, narrowing his eyes. “What is it that you want to know?”

“Of course he trusts you,” Chris said, nonplussed. “You’re the only who -- I mean, that he’s, you know. Been with.”

“You know about that?” Mark asked, startled. Then he frowned. “Did Dustin tell you?”

“No!” Chris exclaimed. “Eduardo only came out to me last month. Dustin knows?”

“He’d have to be pretty stupid not to know,” Mark muttered, feeling weirdly proud of Dustin. He sat back in his seat, thinking hard. “So Wardo -- told you about us?”

“He didn’t exactly _say_ it,” Chris hedged. Mark’s burgeoning hope crashed, and he found himself scowling hard at nothing.. “Mark, it’s not -- he _likes_ you.”

“So?” Mark asked grumpily. He picked up the trash from his lunch and said, “You sound good. You’ll be great at the concert.”

“Thanks?” Chris said, confused, and then he said, “Mark!” as Mark walked off stage. Mark hunched his shoulders and ignored him.

Mark didn’t speak to Chris or Eduardo for the rest of the week, not wanting to deal with Chris’s attempts at rationalizing Eduardo’s clear rejection of Mark or Eduardo’s pitying attempts at friendship. He travelled up to Cambridge with his family to visit Randi, who was full of stories about Harvard and had some fancy internship that apparently meant something. They went out to Thanksgiving dinner at a restaurant in Boston’s Chinatown, since Mark’s parents didn’t want to cook, and Randi took Mark to the campus of the New England Conservatory even though it was technically closed for the holidays.

It wasn’t until Saturday night that Randi brought up Eduardo. Mark had gone to hang out in her dorm room while his parents and younger sisters went shopping, and he was watching television when she muted it and said, “I hear you have a boyfriend.”

Mark scowled and tried to grab the remote from her. She shook her head and poked him in the nose. “Nope, you’re not getting back until you tell me about him. You’re my little brother and I deserve to know.”

“What are you going to do, threaten to beat him up if he hurts me?” Mark sneered. She whacked his ear.

“I should beat _you_ up,” she muttered. She grabbed his arm and sat down next to him on her bed. “Come on, Mark. Arielle mentioned it and I pretended you had told me already, so I don’t know anything. What’s his name?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” Mark said, exasperated. “He wasn’t my boyfriend.”

“But there _was_ someone, right?” Randi patted his knee. “Spill.”

Randi was as stubborn as Mark and had no compunctions about tickling Mark until he agreed to tell her whatever it was she wanted to know, so he gave into the inevitable and said, “His name is Eduardo.”

It took him half an hour to tell her the whole story, Randi prodding him for more information until he had told her about everything but the sex. When he was through, she lay back on the bed and crossed her arms under her head, looking thoughtful.

“He sounds like a sweet kid,” she said.

“He’s a coward,” Mark said. “And he doesn’t even _like_ me. I just let him kiss me.”

“He wouldn’t keep coming back if he didn’t like you,” Randi said. “And why exactly is it that you let him? If you dislike him --”

“I don’t,” protested Mark. “He just --”

“Of course not,” Randi interrupted. “If you didn’t like him, you wouldn’t be so annoyed about keeping it a secret.” She turned over onto her side and looked at him seriously. “It sounds to me like he’s very conflicted. You should give him some time to figure things out.”

“He’s never going to,” Mark said. “All he does is worry about what other people think about him. As long as his dad is his dad, he’s never going to do what he wants and that’s stupid. If he really liked me, it wouldn’t matter what his dad thought.”

Randi sighed and patted the only part of him she could reach from her position, which happened to be his hip. “I understand why you’re mad, but just -- be nice to him, Mark. He’ll come around.” She didn’t sound like she totally believed what she was saying, but she smiled anyway.

“I don’t care,” Mark said unconvincingly. Randi raised her eyebrows. “I _don’t_!”

“Fine.” Randi unmuted the television and scooted over so Mark could lie next to her. “Be nice to him anyway.”

Mark rolled his eyes, but didn’t try to argue with her anymore. He could be nice to Eduardo, he thought grumpily. He could do it.

 

When Thanksgiving break was over, they had only two weeks before the orchestra concert. Ms. Delpy somehow convinced Mr. Thiel to loan her the winds for class, and they rehearsed like mad, hammering out the remaining flaws and polishing until the music filled the auditorium completely, rich and unnervingly beautiful at times.

Mark made the effort to be perfectly polite to Eduardo, nodding to him and making banal conversation if they ended up sitting next to each other. Eduardo looked surprised the first time Mark did it, but they did manage to act completely normally towards one another.

The night of the orchestra concert arrived sooner than any of them wanted. Mark put on his tuxedo, resisted his mother’s attempts to tame his hair, and glared at his sisters when they giggled at him. They drove to the school and he went backstage to where the rest of the orchestra was preparing, all of them looking mildly panicked. Chris was practicing his solo in the corner, playing faster than he needed to. Dustin was compulsively tuning his trumpet, looking uncomfortable in his dress clothes. Amy fidgeted with her dress, looking annoyed at how it restricted her legs, and tried to settle with her horn on her knee.

“Mark!” K.C. said, looking wild-eyed. She waved her oboe at him. “Mark, I can’t get it to tune right --”

He was helping her unstick her oboe, which had somehow gotten twisted strangely, when Ms. Delpy came backstage and clapped her hands for attention. They all fell silent and looked to her expectantly. She seemed as nervous as they were, but she smiled at them reassuringly.

“You’ve all practiced for months,” she said. “And you sound great. I know you can do this. So let out a deep breath and just enjoy yourselves okay?”

Dustin let out a ragged cheer, and slowly everyone else joined him until the atmosphere in the room changed from panic to excitement. K.C. nudged Mark and grinned, looking calmer. He nodded back and waited as the orchestra trooped onstage. He dug his music out and smoothed it out carefully, only vaguely hearing the murmur of voices. He glanced up to see that Eduardo had hung back as well and was talking to Ms. Delpy.

Mark was about to go onstage when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eduardo stumble back from Ms. Delpy, nearly dropping his cello in the process. Ms. Delpy took his arm, looking worried, and said something too soft for Mark to hear. Eduardo shook his head and she stepped back towards the door, though she couldn’t help looking back over her shoulder at him, as if to be sure he wouldn’t fall over. Mark drifted closer to Eduardo to try and get a look at his face.

Eduardo had gone pale and shaky, his eyes huge. He was clutching to the neck of his cello, his knuckles white. Mark frowned and asked, “Is everything all right?”

Eduardo turned to look at Mark. His mouth moved soundlessly for a moment, and then he said, “Sy Getz is here. To see me.”

It took Mark a moment to place the name. Then he said, with dawning comprehension, “He’s the guy from --”

“Julliard,” Eduardo said weakly, sinking down onto his seat. He set his cello down and dropped his heads into his hands. “He, Mark. He played with the New York Philharmonic. He’s -- he listened to my audition, he wanted to see me perform because Ms. Delpy told him about me and I’m not going to -- this is going to be --”

Mark dropped to his knees in front of Eduardo and grabbed Eduardo’s hands. “Wardo. Shut up.”

Eduardo’s mouth snapped shut and he stared at Mark plaintively, fingers clenching and unclenching compulsively. “Mark, I can’t do this.”

“Stop being stupid,” Mark said. “You’re very talented. You’ll impress him and you’ll be accepted to Julliard. There is nothing to be afraid of.”

Eduardo sucked in a shuddering breath. “Mark, what if -- what if they don’t want me?”

Mark rolled his eyes and got to his feet, tugging Eduardo up with him. “Then they didn’t deserve to have you anyway. Come on, we’re supposed to be tuning in a minute.”

“I can’t do this,” Eduardo moaned, but he let Mark drag him out onstage and managed to get to his seat without vomiting or fainting. Mark watched him out of the corner of his eye as he took his seat next to K.C. She prodded him in the side and he looked up to see that Chris was walking onstage, his violin under his arm, his hair shining under the bright spotlights.

There was always something strangely anticlimactic about concerts. They’d worked on the same pieces for months, fretting and worrying and going mildly crazy, and then it was over in a flash of sound and applause. Eduardo played his solo beautifully, not betraying a single sign of his earlier nervousness, and a shiver went down Mark’s spine when it ended. Mark lifted his oboe to his lips and looked back at his music, feeling a weird sense of pride.

When they ended their final piece on a high, triumphant note, Mark couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face when the auditorium burst into raucous applause. His grin remained on his face as they shuffled offstage, past when he put his oboe away, and well until he exited into the lobby, where he was confronted by his teary-eyed mother, who immediately gave him a gigantic hug and told him he was brilliant. His father clapped him on the shoulder and said that he was proud of him, and then they turned as one to seize Eduardo, who was passing out of the auditorium with a slightly dazed look on his face, his cello case in hand.

“Oh, Eduardo,” Mark’s mother said wetly and she hugged him, too. Eduardo went stiff, clearly startled, and searched out Mark, mouthing, _What do I do?_

Mark just shrugged, so Eduardo tentatively hugged back incredibly awkwardly. Mark’s mother released him just as a tall, imposing man and a slender, elegant woman approached. They were both immediately recognizable as Eduardo’s parents; he had his father’s height and brows, his mother’s slimness and large eyes.

“Edu,” Mrs. Saverin said fondly, and she burst into a torrent of Portuguese that made Eduardo smile and duck his head, looking embarrassed. He allowed his mother to kiss his cheek, though he wouldn’t look at Mark after.

Karen held her hand out to Mr. Saverin, smiling, and said, “I’m Karen Zuckerberg, Mark’s mother. We’re very fond of your son.”

Mr. Saverin took her hand and said, in a voice that carried only the faintest trace of an accent, “How do you know Eduardo?”

Karen shot Mark a confused look and he shook his head minutely, silently willing her to say nothing about him and Eduardo. She seemed to understand, because she renewed her smile and said, “Well, he’s come over once or twice to rehearse with Mark and we think he’s just wonderful.”

“That is very kind of you,” Mr. Saverin said, very formal and stiff. Karen took the hint and stepped away, her face creased in a frown.

“Mark --” she started in an undertone, turning so that the Saverins wouldn’t overhear, and Mark shook his head more emphatically. He didn’t want to talk to his mother about his dating woes. She sighed. “All right, then. I’m going to go buy some CDs for your grandparents. Meet you at the car in twenty minutes?”

Mark nodded and turned in time to see Ms. Delpy approach the Saverins with an older man at her side. Ms. Delpy was beaming, practically glowing with pride, and she said, in a voice audible enough to carry to Mark, “Eduardo, this is Sy Getz.”

Eduardo went pale, his gaze darting from Sy to his father. “It’s very nice to meet you, sir,” he said in a faint voice.

“You’re very talented,” Getz said brusquely. “I can’t see why we wouldn’t accept you to the school. I’ve already looked over your application --”

“I beg your pardon,” Mr. Saverin cut in, voice very cold. “What school is this?”

Someone tugged at Mark’s elbow and a moment later Dustin said, “Mark, come on, they have tiny cheesecakes, we have to commandeer as many as we can,” and Mark was dragged away to the refreshments table before he could hear the rest.

 

School let out at the end of the next week, which was mostly spent in a flurry of studying for finals and arguing with his parents over his lack of a thick winter coat. Mark gave into the pressure on the last Friday and found himself with a puffy fleece jacket that dwarfed him. When he arrived at Dustin’s house, having walked there in the snow and the cold, Dustin took one look at him and burst out laughing.

“I guess this is better than you running around in just a sweatshirt and flip-flops,” Dustin said once he had recovered himself, and then they played video games and watched television until Mark had to go home so he could help his mother shop for Chanukah food.

Randi arrived home on the Tuesday, still exhausted from finals. She slept for most of her first day back and then dragged Mark into her room so she could interrogate him, clearly dissatisfied with whatever Mark’s mom had managed to convey to her.

“Mom’s really worried about you,” she said, bending over his hands so she could file down his nails. Mark tried not to fidget, knowing Randi would whack him if he did. “She called me in a panic because your ‘sweet boyfriend’ isn’t out. I take it nothing has changed since I last saw you?”

“I told her he wasn’t my boyfriend,” Mark muttered.

“Yes,” Randi said. “I remember you mentioning that once or twice.”

Mark rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to make him do anything,” he said irritably. “You made it very clear that I should just leave him alone and, whatever, I can find someone else.”

“Sure,” Randi said, sounding unconvinced. She reached over to her bedside table and picked up a bottle of nail polish. “So what do you want for Chanukah? I haven’t bought anything yet because you never seem to want anything.”

Mark thought about it for a few minutes while she painted the first coat of pale blue polish onto his nails, but he honestly couldn’t think of anything he wanted. “I’ll tell you if I think of anything,” he told her and she blew lightly on his hands.

Chanukah was always a muted affair at the Zuckerberg house; they tended to mostly only celebrate the High Holidays, and that was really only out of as tradition. But Mark’s mother liked to give her children gifts, so they spent eight nights eating and watching movies. Randi didn’t ask about Eduardo any more and Mark didn’t volunteer any information; Eduardo didn’t call or visit once.

Mark got a text invite to Erica’s New Year’s Eve party and went despite some misgivings, hitching a ride with Dustin who had scraped enough money from Chanukah and selling his old car to trade in for a slightly nicer vehicle that didn’t make as many frightening rattling noises. Dustin patted the hood proudly and said, “She’s definitely nicer than my old one.”

Mark rolled his eyes and said, “A Ugo would be nicer than your old one.”

Dustin shrugged, still beaming, and said, “Whatever, you’re just jealous.”

The thing was, Mark wasn’t jealous of Dustin, ever, and hadn’t been until they walked into the party and Dustin was immediately greeted by a smacking kiss on his mouth from Chris, who was flushed and bright-eyed, a glass of champagne in his hand. Dustin went red but smiled, pleased, and said, “Oh, hi,” and the two of them disappeared into the depths of the party, hand in hand.

Mark stood alone in the front hall until Alice found him and said exasperatedly, “Come on, Mark, it’s a party.”

Mark drank whatever she handed to him, not paying it much attention. He didn’t see Eduardo among the crowd, but he knew that Eduardo would be there somewhere. It was as inevitable as K.C. and Divya having an argument before making up with kisses, as inevitable as Amy singing in French.

To Mark’s surprise, Sean Parker was also there, looking immensely pleased with himself and wearing a Stanford sweatshirt that couldn’t possibly be his. He spotted Mark across the room and waved enthusiastically.

“Mark,” he said very seriously when Mark managed to fight his way over. “I’m in a band now, we’re going to be huge.”

Mark nodded, not very impressed. Sean had been in a band in high school; they had been pretty good, but then the members had scattered to college and Sean had bummed around before half-heartedly going to community college. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, you should definitely come see us.” Sean slung a companionable arm around Mark’s shoulders. “Now, you know Amy, right?”

“Amy?” Mark asked, looking over to where Amy was waving her hands enthusiastically at a slightly bemused Erica. “What about her?”

“We hooked up once in high school,” Sean said in a confiding tone, which really didn’t sound all that likely to Mark, but he made a noise of agreement. “It was great. But she won’t give me the time of day now.”

As if to prove his point, Amy glanced their way. When she saw Sean, she scowled fiercely and looked back quickly. Sean let out a sigh.

“What do you want me to do about it?” Mark asked, shrugging Sean off him.

“Can’t you, I don’t know, get her to be more...willing to go out with me?” Sean asked hopefully.

“I don’t think I am the best choice for that,” Mark said dryly. “There’s probably a better way of getting her to pay attention to you.”

Sean looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he beamed and said, “Well, what if I made her jealous?”

“Jealous?” Mark snorted. “Sure, that might work.”

Sean grinned and said, “This will be fun,” and he wandered off, clearly looking for someone else he could use to make Amy jealous.

Mark drank another beer and then decided he needed to pee, so he made his way to the bathroom, where there was a small line of people waiting. He leaned against the wall and finally saw Eduardo, secluded in a corner with Christy. Their heads were bent in close together, Christy gesturing as she spoke. Eduardo shook his head and looked up, catching Mark’s eye. For a moment, Eduardo looked hunted, guilty; then he smoothed out his expression and turned so his back was facing Mark.

Bile rose in Mark’s stomach; he swallowed hard and waited until he was in the bathroom to punch the wall, harder than he meant so that his knuckles ached and bled a little from where he’d caught the side of a rough spot on the plaster. He didn’t care, he told himself. Eduardo could do whatever he wanted; he didn’t owe Mark anything.

Mark relieved himself, then washed his hands and left the bathroom, flexing his hand distractedly. It ached slightly, and he thought it would probably be bruised in the morning. He was about to seek out Alice when Eduardo materialized in front of him, Christy a half-step behind him.

“Mark,” Eduardo said, his face pale and drawn. “I need to --” He looked back at Christy, who stepped up to stand next to Eduardo.

Mark watched them both with narrowed eyes as they had a quick, whispered conversation. Then Eduardo looked at Mark and said, “Mark, it’s not that -- it’s just, I need to tell you that I’m -- and Christy --”

There was a rushing sound in Mark’s ears, drowning out the music and Eduardo’s voice. He held up his hand to stop the stumble of words and he said, very cool and calm, “I hope you’re happy,” and then he turned on his heel and walked away, determined not to be upset. He heard Eduardo call his name behind him, but he ignored him, trying to find someone, anyone --

Sean was leaning against the couch, watching Amy out of the corner of his eye. When he saw Mark, he straightened and said, “Mark, no one wants to help me make her jealous --”

Mark didn’t stop to think; he reached up and hauled Sean in by the shirt. Sean’s eyes went wide and he was about to say something when Mark kissed him, conscious of the curious eyes of everyone around him. Sean didn’t move for a moment; then he wrapped his arms around Mark’s waist and pulled him in.

There was a confused moment where Mark was too distracted by Sean to hear the shouting. Then Sean let him go and Mark stumbled back a few steps into someone. Then Eduardo was there, his face stormy and furious, and he threw a punch at Sean, who ducked and almost fell backwards, and then the party descended into utter chaos.

 

“You realize you’re kind of an idiot,” Alice said as she taped up Mark’s hand in his bathroom. She had taken pity on Mark and taken him home so he wouldn’t have to try to find Dustin. “What did you even do to your hand?”

“Hit a wall,” Mark muttered, trying not to flinch when she touched him.

“You’re lucky you didn’t break something,” she said reprovingly. She released his hand and propped her elbow on the counter. “So what was that with Sean?”

Mark shrugged and didn’t reply. Alice sighed and got to her feet. “Well, if you were trying to piss Eduardo off, you couldn’t have done a better job. He and Sean have never gotten along.”

“What --” Mark said, confused, and Alice shook her head.

“If you think none of us knew about you and Eduardo, you’re sadly mistaken.” She smirked at him as she headed out towards the living room. “Neither of you are very subtle.”

“That should please him,” Mark said sarcastically, following her. “I’m sure he just loves everyone knowing.”

“Mark --” Alice started, frowning, but he barreled on, not listening to her.

“And if he likes me so much, why is he dating Christy?” he demanded.

“Dating Christy?” Alice asked in puzzlement. “Why did you -- wait, did you think he was dating Christy?”

“Isn’t he?” Mark asked blankly. “They were spending all their time together.”

“He’s _living_ with her,” Alice said, which didn’t really clarify the situation for Mark. She saw the incomprehension on his face and elaborated, “His dad kicked him out over the music thing.”

Mark froze; after a moment, he looked her fully in the face. She was watching him with a pitying gaze, which he didn’t like. “What?”

Alice sighed and sat down on the couch. “His dad talked to the Julliard guy and found out that Eduardo was all but accepted, so he told Eduardo he wouldn’t pay for him to get a music degree. I don’t know all the details, but Christy said they had a huge fight and Eduardo moved out. Just packed up and drove to her house. He’s sold his car and everything.” She tilted her head to the side. “You really didn’t know?”

“I haven’t spoken to him since the concert,” Mark said quietly. He sat down next to Alice. “I -- I didn’t know.”

“Oh, Mark,” Alice said sadly and she leaned against him. Normally Mark hated physical contact from people he didn’t know well, but Alice clearly meant it well. He let her put his arm around him and they sat together quietly for a long time.

 

School started up a few days later and Mark was disgusted to find that Chris and Dustin were in fact dating. They spent all of their time secluded together, and Dustin wouldn’t stop smiling stupidly even if Chris was nowhere near him.

“Can you just _stop_ that for five minutes?” Mark snapped finally when Dustin muttered something vague and dreamy in response to Mark’s question about a class. “We get it, you’re in love, could you please stop acting like an idiot?”

Dustin narrowed his eyes at Mark, good humor vanishing instantly. “Who pissed in your Red Bull?”

“No one, I’m just sick of your fucking smile!” Mark burst out, louder than he meant to. Dustin rolled his eyes and dragged Mark out of the hall into an empty classroom.

“Okay, I get it,” Dustin said, “you and Eduardo had a fight --”

“We didn’t have a fight,” Mark corrected.

“You’re avoiding him,” Dustin pointed out. “And he’s avoiding you. so it’s not me you have a problem with, it’s Eduardo. So could you please just get over it and make up with him so I can enjoy my boyfriend?”

“Fine,” Mark said. He _had_ been avoiding Eduardo, not that he was going to admit as much to Dustin. “What do I say to him?”

“Maybe apologize for whatever it was you did,” Dustin suggested sarcastically. “You know, things like that.”

Mark objected to the assumption that he was at fault, but he thought maybe if he faked an apology maybe Eduardo would accept it. He wasn’t really sorry he had kissed Sean; he had been angry and upset and -- maybe jealous, though nothing could induce him to say that.

Mark didn’t get a chance to speak with Eduardo until a week later, when Eduardo had lingered after orchestra to speak to Ms. Delpy. Mark dawdled by the door, waiting, and when Eduardo came towards him, Mark stepped out to corner him.

“Wardo,” he said before Eduardo could open his mouth. “I didn’t mean to make you mad. Well, I did,” he amended, “but that’s because I thought you were dating Christy.”

Eduardo stared at him. “You know,” he said after a moment, “you might in the future wait for people to finish their sentences before jumping to conclusions.” He smiled coldly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go speak with some of my teachers --”

“And I’m sorry,” Mark blurted out. “Wardo, I heard what happened and I -- I know you care what he thinks, but now you can do what you want.”

“I would rather have my family back,” Eduardo said. He was clearly trying for strength, but his voice wobbled on the last word. Mark took a step forward, and Eduardo let out a small exclamatory breath before pushing Mark aside so he could escape.

Mark spent the weekend feeling strangely guilty, even though it wasn’t his fault that Mr. Saverin had decided to kick Eduardo off. “Maybe if I hadn’t told him to apply,” he said to Randi, who was still home.

She shook her head. “If he hadn’t really wanted to, you wouldn’t have been able to make him,” she opined. “He wants to study music, but -- I don’t think he really thought it would happen.”

“Then why did he try?” Mark asked, frustrated. Randi’s explanation made no sense to him. Eduardo both did -- and didn’t -- want to do music. He didn’t think he could succeed but he wanted to try anyway. It was irrational; Mark disliked the explanation, but suspected it could be true from his own discussions with Eduardo on the topic.

Randi didn’t answer Mark, absorbed in the movie she was watching. Mark settled back on the sofa and thought about how much Eduardo loved music -- his passion for cello, his appreciation for the art. He couldn’t imagine Eduardo without music. He would be incomplete. Soulless.

On a whim, Mark dug up the sheet music for _Rhapsody in Blue_ and sat down to sight read. It was more difficult than he had anticipated, a different kind of music than he usually played. But it was a challenge, and he absorbed himself in studying it, playing until his fingers were aching and sore and his empty stomach was complaining.

He didn’t think about talking to Ms. Delpy about it until a few weeks later, once he had more or less gotten the hang of the piece, though he still couldn’t play it quickly. She was in the process of deciding on pieces for their spring concert, so after class he approached her and said, “I’ve been playing Rhapsody in Blue.”

Ms. Delpy raised her eyebrows and waited for him to continue. “I think,” he said haltingly. “I think it would be a good closing piece?”

“You’re playing the piano solo?” she asked him curiously. He nodded. “Well, that would be interesting,” she said thoughtfully. “Let me look into the price of the publishing and we’ll try it out.” She smiled encouragingly at Mark. “I’m glad to see you taking a more active interest in orchestra, Mark. You’re a very talented musician.”

“Yes,” Mark said, then belatedly added, “Thank you.”

Ms. Delpy laughed and made a shooing gesture. “Go on, go eat lunch. I’ll let you know if we’ll be able to use it.”

Mark nodded and left, feeling jittery and anxious. He wondered what Eduardo would say if they _did_ play it, then shoved the thought from his mind.

 

Ms. Delpy didn’t get around to giving them the music until the beginning of February. “I know you’re all very excited about the film scores we’re playing,” she said as they settled in, “but I’ve had a request from a student and I think it would be an interesting challenge to play something a little more -- contemporary and jazzy.” She directed a smile at Mark, who shrunk back in his seat a little. “Obviously, we’ll have a piano soloist when we perform it properly, but for right now we’ll just play through it as an orchestra, all right?”

Mark knew the exact moment when Eduardo realized what piece it was. He went very still, his eyes widening, and then he looked over at Mark. Mark met his gaze evenly until Marilyn lifted her arms, baton in one hand. He looked at his music and glanced over towards the clarinet section as the song began with a flourishing solo that Billy did with much aplomb.

After class, Eduardo hesitated near the wind section as though he wanted to go over and speak to Mark. Then his mouth tightened and he walked away without saying anything. Mark packed up and was about to go after him when Ms. Delpy stopped him and asked if he could show her how much of the solo he had learned.

By the time they finished discussing the solo, there were only a few minutes left of lunch, so Mark scarfed down his sandwich and ran to class, determined that at some point he would manage to get Eduardo to talk to him.

Valentine’s Day came and went without much ceremony. Mark received candy from Alice along with a pointed note about talking to Eduardo. K.C. kissed him on the cheek and thanked him for helping her with her parts on _Jurassic Park_ , and Amy whacked him upside the head before giving him a See’s candy bar and telling him that she would kill him if he ever tried to help Sean win her back. He was also treated to the sight of Dustin and Chris making out on the hood of Dustin’s car, Chris’s hands fisted in the collar of Dustin’s jacket, heedless of the snow he was standing ankle-deep in.

Mark had thought that it was awful when Eduardo wouldn’t acknowledge what had happened between them. That was nothing compared to the feeling when Eduardo simply wouldn’t acknowledge _him_ while the specter of their former -- relationship hung between them. Mark felt like he was being watched any time he went within a few feet of Eduardo, and he couldn’t seem to find a way to explain to Eduardo that he was trying to apologize, that he believed in him. He didn’t know how to get around Eduardo’s clear distress about losing his family. Mark had no basis of comparison. His parents were doting and supportive, loving and open. Mark sometimes found them overbearing, but he had never had any reason to doubt or suspect their affection for him was conditional.

So instead he worked at _Rhapsody in Blue_ until he could play it quickly, could almost play it in his sleep. He told Marilyn that he was ready to rehearse it with the orchestra towards the end of March, and so that Friday he sat at the piano at the beginning of class, his hands clammy and cool as they always were before he performed a solo.

The rehearsal went well; they spent the whole class working on _Rhapsody_ , and Mark liked showing off for his classmates, many of whom had never heard him on piano before. Afterwards, he got a great many compliments, and Alice gave him a hug and a whispered, “Good luck,” before Eduardo approached him, his expression wary.

“Wardo,” Mark said when it became apparent that Eduardo was not going to speak first.

“You’re -- you learned to play it,” Eduardo said slowly. “When did you start?”

“January,” Mark said. “You -- I mean, you still like it?”

“Yes,” Eduardo said. He hovered awkwardly over where Mark sat at the piano. “Could you -- play it again? Just your part?”

Mark turned to the keys and began to play, slowly at first, then more with more confidence. Eduardo leaned against the piano, pressing his hands to the wood as though he could absorb the vibrations into his blood. Halfway through, Mark saw that Eduardo was crying silently, his head bowed as though to hide it. Mark stopped abruptly and said hesitantly, “Are you all right?”

“Keep playing,” Eduardo said, his voice thick, and Mark resumed playing, trying not to be distracted. When he finished, Eduardo turned his head away, his breathing harsh and loud in the silence. Mark got to his feet and touched his arm gently, not sure if he was welcome.

“Wardo,” he said quietly. With a quiet sob, Eduardo turned back and threw himself into Mark’s arms. His face immediately dampened Mark’s shirt, but Mark couldn’t bring himself to care. Eduardo was shaking, as though he were about to fly apart at any moment, and Mark couldn’t stand it, couldn’t help but think that if only he hadn’t told Eduardo to apply to Julliard, maybe he wouldn’t be quite so unhappy.

“I really miss them,” Eduardo whispered. Mark tentatively wrapped his arms around Eduardo’s waist and rubbed his back the way he saw his mom do when his sisters were upset. Eduardo shuddered and turned his face into Mark’s neck.

They stood there for a long time until Eduardo wore himself out. It was obvious, looking at him, that he had been crying, but Mark helped him wipe his face and arrange himself so that it wasn’t glaring. Eduardo wouldn’t meet Mark’s eyes, clearly embarrassed, but he slipped his hand into Mark’s as they exited the auditorium, fingers squeezing tight.

After that, Mark seemed to be forgiven. Eduardo stuck to him like glue, seeming to find him comforting, and when he showed up at Mark’s house one weekend, Mark knew things were back to what passed for normal. Or so he thought -- because instead of shoving Mark up the stairs to his bedroom, Eduardo suggested that they go out for lunch, his eyes downcast and his cheeks pink.

“Like a date?” Mark asked, confused, and Eduardo nodded. After a moment of surprised staring, Mark managed to say, “All right.” Mark grabbed his coat and joined Eduardo on the sidewalk. Eduardo took his hand and flashed him a quick smile before leading him towards the car he had borrowed from Christy.

They ate in a secluded corner of the diner in what passed for downtown, well-hidden from prying eyes. Eduardo wouldn’t let go of Mark’s hand, so Mark fumbled left-handedly through the meal, trying not to be embarrassed by the starry-eyed glances from the waitress, who clearly thought they were adorable.

“What’s going on with you?” Mark hissed after Eduardo had leaned across the table to wipe a smear of ketchup from the corner of Mark’s mouth.

“I’m happy,” Eduardo said. He squeezed Mark’s hand and beamed brilliantly. “I’m going to Julliard.”

Mark dropped his fork with a clatter. “You -- you didn’t say you’d gotten in.”

“I wasn’t sure I was going to go, but Sy -- Mr. Getz -- came by Christy’s house and told me that he would tutor me personally and that since my financial situation had changed, he’d work to help me get enough scholarships so I can go.” Eduardo’s smile was huge as Mark let go of him and came around the side of the table to kiss him, unable to help himself.

Later, they parked in a secluded area off the road and Eduardo pushed Mark into the backseat, his hands roaming eagerly over Mark’s body. Mark pulled Eduardo to him, slipping his fingertips under the hem of Eduardo’s shirt.

Eduardo hissed. “Cold,” he murmured at Mark’s look, and then he kissed Mark warmly, the chilly tip of his nose brushing against Mark’s cheek.

They were both too impatient and too cold to bother removing their clothes. Eduardo rubbed himself off on Mark’s leg, his eyes distant and his mouth slack. Mark lightly bit Eduardo’s lower lip, and Eduardo gasped, his gaze focusing back on Mark.

“I missed you,” Mark mumbled, embarrassed, and Eduardo smiled, huge and incandescent, and hitched Mark’s leg up around his waist.

After, they were both sticky and hot and breathless, but neither of them moved, just breathing in each others’ air. Eventually, Eduardo said, “I’m going to miss you when I’m at school.”

“Julliard isn’t too far away,” Mark said quietly. “I can -- I’ll get my driving license.”

Eduardo snorted and nuzzled Mark’s cheek. “Or you could take a bus.”

“Or I could take a bus,” Mark agreed. “But you won’t be far.”

“No,” Eduardo said. “I won’t be.” He kissed Mark’s cheek fondly. “I’ll come back to visit you.”

“Good,” Mark said, and he turned his head to catch Eduardo’s mouth.

They finally managed to get home around six, breathless and giddy. Eduardo came inside with Mark, not seeming to care that his lips were red and his hair was tousled, making it abundantly clear what they had been doing. Donna dropped her book on her foot when she saw them -- Eduardo was still holding Mark’s hand -- and then shouted, “Arielle!”

“Great,” muttered Mark as Arielle came pelting into the room, looking delighted. “This is going to be terrible.”

“Are you boyfriends now?” Arielle asked them with great interest. She got up on tiptoes to look Eduardo in the eyes, or to try to. “Mark plays piano an awful lot when you’re fighting. It’s very annoying.”

“Arielle!” Donna said, sounding horrified. “I mean, it _is_ annoying,” she told Eduardo, then looked appalled with herself.

“We’re going now,” Mark said loudly, tugging Eduardo towards the kitchen. Eduardo waved at Mark’s sisters cheerfully and allowed himself to be dragged.

Mark dug out leftover food and sat next to Eduardo at the kitchen table, listening to Eduardo talk about his plans for New York and college. Eventually, Eduardo stumbled to a stop, looking at Mark in concern. “Am I boring you?” he asked anxiously.

“No,” said Mark, surprised. “I like listening to you talk.”

“Oh.” Eduardo flashed a quick, bright smile, and grabbed Mark’s hand again. He stroked his thumb over Mark’s knuckles contemplatively. “Thank you, by the way.”

“For what?” asked Mark.

“For making me apply.” Eduardo smiled and leaned in to kiss Mark, gentle and soft. “I’m actually looking _forward_ to college,” he added when he pulled away. His smile was luminous that it made Mark’s breath hitch a little.

“Good,” said Mark, smiling back, and Eduardo lifted his free hand to cup Mark’s jaw fondly.

That was how Mark’s mother found them about ten minutes later, and she let out a happy shout so loud that Mark nearly fell out of his seat. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said guiltily as they broke apart. “I’m just -- I’ve been _so worried_. Are you doing all right, Eduardo?”

“I’m doing very well, Mrs. Zuckerberg,” Eduardo said politely. “Thanks for -- worrying.”

“Honestly, Eduardo, it’s Karen,” she said, swooping in for a hug. Eduardo flailed in confusion, but hugged her back after an awkward moment. “You’re welcome here anytime.”

Something about the way she said it made Mark suspect that his mom had known or heard about Eduardo’s situation. Judging by Eduardo’s startled expression, Mark thought Eduardo had caught that as well. “Thank you,” Eduardo said, heartfelt and a little croaky. “I appreciate it.”

Mark squeezed Eduardo’s hand gently as Karen bustled off to make something special for Eduardo, even though he had tried to protest. “She’ll be a while,” Mark said. “I have -- I mean, there’s the piano.”

“Oh, will you play for me?” Eduardo asked eagerly. When Mark nodded, he said, “Come on, then,” and he dragged Mark into the living room.

Eduardo didn’t stay the night, though for a moment it seemed as though he might. He finally dragged himself to the door after allowing Mark’s mom to stuff him with food and said, “I need to get Christy’s car back.”

“All right,” Mark said, going with him to the door. Eduardo kissed him again, giddy, and then left, looking back over his shoulder to wave.

 

Eduardo became something of a fixture in the Zuckerberg house after that. Mark’s mom dropped increasingly unsubtle hints that he should bring his nice boy over more often, and so Mark did. It wasn’t exactly a hardship; he got to have Eduardo at his side even more often so they could build up the hours together before Eduardo graduated. Mark wanted to spend as much time as he could curled up with Eduardo, listening to the soft sound of Eduardo’s breathing.

To keep himself from thinking too much about Eduardo’s approaching departure, Mark threw himself even more into orchestra, playing with more feeling than he had before, to the point where even Ms. Delpy remarked on it, commenting that he had really developed as a musician.

“You’re on your way to becoming a truly exceptional musician, Mark,” she told him seriously at the end of class. “Keep this up and you could take your pick of colleges.”

Despite himself, Mark’s gaze slid toward where Eduardo was packing up his cello. Ms. Delpy didn’t miss that -- he could tell by the sharp glint in her eyes -- but she didn’t remark on it either. She patted his shoulder and returned to the podium. Mark looked down at his music and thought about entering a career in music. He hadn’t ever thought about it in _real_ earnestness, though he liked the idea of making a living off playing piano. Maybe he could learn to compose, he thought, excitement growing, and then he found himself making plans for going to music college.

He broached the idea with his parents at dinner that night. His mother smiled and said, “I thought as much,” and began rattling off statistics for various music conservatories until Mark’s head was spinning. Finally, his father laid a hand on her arm to slow her down.

“We’ll support you, whatever you choose, Mark,” his dad said, very seriously. “We want you to be happy.”

“Oh,” Mark said, and he felt guilty for a moment, wondering how this conversation must have gone when Eduardo brought it up with his father. He said as much to his mom later on and she pursed her lips for a moment before wrapping him in a hug.

“He has us now, though,” she said, very determined. “He’ll be fine, Mark.”

“I know,” Mark said, a little irritably. He would take care of Eduardo if no one else would. Mark wanted -- needed -- Eduardo to be happy. It had become as ingrained in his needs as playing music, an essential part to every day. He would make Eduardo smile at least once every day. He could do that.

It was fortunate for Mark that Eduardo was quick to smile these days; he seemed to always be smiling when he looked at Mark, and so Mark just did his best to keep the smile on Eduardo’s face.

They were rehearsing _Hall of the Mountain King_ when Mark looked over to where Eduardo was playing, brows drawn together in concentration, and was hit with an overwhelming feeling of _love_. His fingers slipped on his oboe and he had to scramble to catch up again, his heart hammering against his chest.

He clung to the feeling until he managed to get Eduardo alone, just the two of them in a darkened corner of the auditorium. Mark kissed Eduardo until his lips were buzzing and raw and Eduardo was letting out soft, hitching breathes. Mark dropped his head to rest on Eduardo’s shoulder and he murmured, “I -- I love you.”

Eduardo’s hands, which had been tracing idle circles on Mark’s back, froze for a moment. Then Eduado urged him to look up, and so Mark did, looking up into Eduardo’s wide, delighted eyes.

“Oh, Mark,” said Eduardo, “me too,” and he kissed Mark so fiercely that Mark spent the rest of the day in a slight daze, remembering the press of Eduardo against him.

 

The end of the year drew closer than Mark wanted it to. They passed through prom -- Mark declined to go and instead went to Dustin’s anti-prom party where he stayed tucked against Eduardo’s side, only moving to get more beer -- then through the seemingly endless rehearsals that always preceded every music concert. The band concert went perfectly fine, and Mark was left to practicing _Rhapsody in Blue_ at all hours of the day until finally his mother forbade him from practicing between the hours of 11 p.m. and 6 a.m., which satisfied everyone but Mark.

Backstage the night of the orchestra concert, Mark played through his solo in his head, using his thigh as an imaginary keyboard. Dustin was practicing the trumpet part from _Jurassic Park_ , looking nervous. Chris was running through a complex series of warm-ups, looking very serious. Eduardo was the sole point of stillness in the room, his hands folded on his lap as he stared off into space.

Concerned, Mark got to his feet and made his way over to him, stepping over Alice who had decided to sit on the floor for some unknown reason. She smacked his calf affectionately with her bow, then went back to practicing.

“Wardo?” Mark said cautiously, touching Eduardo’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”

Eduardo turned to look at Mark without seeming to really see him. Mark shook him gently and Eduardo abruptly focused on Mark’s face. “What?”

“Are you all right?” Mark repeated.

“I -- I saw my mother in the parking lot,” Eduardo said after a moment. “My brother was with her. Not my father.” He shrugged philosophically. “I didn’t -- I mean, I didn’t think _they_ would come, but of course he didn’t.”

Mark frowned, not sure how to interpret that. “Are you -- are you happy they’re here?”

“I think so,” Eduardo said slowly. He gave Mark a small smile. “I’ll be better once we’re performing. But I promise I’m all right.”

Mark hesitated, conscious of the number of people around him, then gave into the temptation and pecked the corner of Eduardo’s mouth. “Okay.”

He returned to his seat and steadfastly ignored K.C.’s knowing look. She nudged him affectionately, then lifted her oboe back to her lips.

Mark generally didn’t get nervous before performing. He was confident enough in his own abilities to know that he wouldn’t make an idiot of himself, but there was something intimidating about walking to the grand piano that had been wheeled onstage for the occasion and sitting down in front of everyone. He could feel the eyes of everyone on him, and he took a moment to breathe out before nodding to Ms. Delpy.

Billy’s introductory clarinet notes floated out over the auditorium, jazzy and smooth. Mark rubbed his hands on his pants, waiting for his cue. He caught Eduardo’s eye and Eduardo flashed him a small, brilliant smile, and Mark’s racing thoughts and nerves settled. He lifted his hands to the keys as Dustin’s trumpet solo came to an end and, with the downward stroke of Marilyn’s baton, he started to play.

 

  


 

Upon stepping into the lobby, Mark was immediately besieged by hugs from his family. Arielle clung to his neck and proclaimed that she would stop complaining about him practicing while his father pounded him affectionately on the back. Mark hugged them back awkwardly, then begged off to try to find Eduardo. It was more difficult than it should have been; he kept being stopped every few feet by someone who wanted to compliment him on his performance.

He finally found Eduardo standing with his mother and an older boy that had to be his brother. Mark lurked nearby, not wanting to interrupt them, and smiled when Eduardo’s mother folded Eduardo into a tight hug. Eduardo clutched her back, shoulders heaving. When they drew apart, they spoke quietly for a minute, and then Eduardo looked around. His eyes met Mark’s and he beckoned Mark over, smiling. Mark went and took Eduardo’s hand, squeezing tightly.

“Mãe, this is Mark,” he said. “My boyfriend.”

Mark, who was watching Mrs. Saverin closely, saw her eyes widen slightly. But she smiled and said, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mark. You played very well tonight.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Saverin,” Mark said quietly.

“I’m Ric,” Eduardo’s brother put in, smiling. “It’s nice to meet you, Mark.”

“Thanks,” said Mark, feeling a little awkward. He fidgeted a little, looking up at Eduardo. Eduardo smiled at him, then looked at his mother.

“Tell Pai -- tell him I still intend to study music,” Eduardo said, a proud tilt to his chin. “And I’ve gotten enough scholarships to pay for tuition.”

“Oh, Edu, I am so proud,” Mrs. Saverin said, reaching out to cup his jaw. “I will try to convince him, querido, but he is like you sometimes -- so stubborn.” She kissed his cheek fondly, then patted Mark’s cheek. “Take care of him, Mark.”

“I will,” Mark said, a little defiantly. Ric chuckled and lightly punched Eduardo’s shoulder, bumping him into Mark.

“Good luck,” he told them with a grin before taking his mother’s arm and leading her away. Eduardo watched them go with a wistful look on his face.

“Are you all right?” Mark asked him after a while. Eduardo turned to look at Mark and smiled.

“Yeah,” he said. “Thank you. For --” He broke off and shook his head. “For everything, really.” He bent down and kissed Mark, slow and sweet, before Mark was able to protest that he hadn’t actually done anything.

“Aww,” said Dustin when Mark and Eduardo went back inside the lobby, hand in hand. “You guys are all happily ever after now, aren’t you?”

“I guess,” Mark said, frowning at him, but Dustin wasn’t paying him any mind.

“Eduardo,” Dustin said, very seriously. “I like you. You’re a nice guy. But if you hurt Mark ever again -- if you’re using him in any way --”

“I’m not!” Eduardo said, sounding affronted. “I wouldn’t -- not after everything, okay?”

“Dustin,” Mark said, glaring at him. Dustin crossed his arms.

“Someone needs to look after you,” Dustin said stubbornly.

“I can look after myself,” Mark snapped.

“No, you can’t,” Dustin and Eduardo said in unison. Dustin looked at Eduardo with fresh respect and smiled.

“All right,” he said. “You pass.”

“Glad to hear it,” Eduardo said, completely serious.

Dustin clapped both of them on the shoulders, said, “Mazel tov,” and left to find Chris, humming under his breath.

“I don’t need you to take care of me,” Mark told Eduardo, frowning. Eduardo kissed the wrinkles away, and hummed agreeably. “I _don’t_.”

“Probably not,” Eduardo agreed. “But maybe I want to. You’ve done -- so much.”

“I guess I can live with that,” Mark said. “And I didn’t do anything.”

Eduardo rolled his eyes and said, “Sure.”

 

Eduardo graduated three weeks later, which was celebrated with a huge party in honor of all the orchestra seniors. Mark and Eduardo spent nearly all their time together, practicing music or watching movies or just sitting quietly together while Mark worked on college applications and Eduardo read.

Mark helped Eduardo move into his small college dorm room and they broke in the bed with an enthusiastic round of good-bye sex. Afterwards, Mark said, “I think I might apply here.”

Eduardo’s fingers stopped their lazy path across Mark’s side. “Yeah?”

“I think I’d like to study composition,” Mark said sleepily, closing his eyes. “I’ll try some other places, but if I could go here -- would that be all right?”

“It would be more than all right,” Eduardo said softly. “I would love it if we could go to the same school.”

“Okay,” Mark said. Eduardo resumed tracing the line of Mark’s ribs. “That’s -- that’s good.” He was just barely clinging onto consciousness now, and his speech came out slurred and almost incomprehensible.

Eduardo snorted. “Yeah. Go to sleep, Mark.”

Mark closed his eyes and let himself drift to sleep, protected in the circle of Eduardo’s arms.

 

**Epilogue**

Mark spotted Eduardo in the audience just before tuning started. He was so startled that he almost forgot to play the tuning note, and it took a furious elbow in the ribs from Greta, K.C.’s replacement, for him to recall himself.

Somehow, he managed to get through the entire concert without incident. He hadn’t heard from Eduardo in two weeks, ever since he told him that he had been accepted to Julliard. Mark wasn’t sure if he wanted to see Eduardo again; what if he had met someone else? What if he had changed his mind about Mark?

Dustin had told Mark he was an idiot. “Eduardo loves you,” he said, rolling his eyes as Arielle tried to braid his hair. “God knows why, but he does. He’s not going to just _leave_ you.”

Mark wasn’t so sure; Eduardo was attractive and comfortable in his sexuality, now that he was at college. The last time Mark had visited Julliard, Eduardo had been completely oblivious to the fact that his neighbor was flirting with him until Mark had very pointedly taken Eduardo’s hand and marched him away. Mark was under no illusions that he was a particularly good catch, and Eduardo could probably have anyone he wanted, if he tried.

But Eduardo was in the audience, and Mark didn’t know if he could face him, so he took his time packing up his oboe, his fingers shaking. Finally, he couldn’t stall any longer, and he trudged out to face his fate.

To his surprise, Eduardo was already talking to his parents, gesturing enthusiastically. Mark approached hesitantly in time to hear Eduardo thanking them profusely. Mark’s mom saw him and said, “Oh, Mark -- we’ll catch up with you in a minute. Eduardo has something he needs to talk to you about.”

Mark opened his mouth to protest, but his parents, traitors that they were, moved swiftly into the crowd, leaving Mark and Eduardo facing each other in awkward silence.

Finally, Mark said, “I haven’t heard from you in two weeks.”

Eduardo winced. “I know, I just -- I was working on something and I wanted it to be a surprise.” He smiled hesitantly. “Hold out your hand.”

Mark obeyed, holding out his left hand. Eduardo pressed something small and cool into his palm and waited until Mark looked at it.

It was a small silver key, brand new and shiny. Mark suddenly couldn’t breathe, his vision narrowing. “What -- what is this?”

“I found us an apartment,” Eduardo said proudly. “Small, one bedroom -- but it’s near campus and it’s affordable and it’s really nice for the price. I haven’t bought any of the furniture yet -- I wanted to wait for you.”

Mark remained silent, unable to find the words he needed. Eduardo’s smile faltered and he said, “I mean if you -- I’m sure I could find someone else to room with -- I don’t want to push you into anything --”

“Yes,” Mark said, cutting Eduardo off.

“Oh.” Eduardo broke into another sunny smile. “I -- I mean, you really don’t have to, this could completely destroy our relationship if we’re not careful --”

“ _Wardo_ ,” Mark said. “I said yes, all right?”

“I know.” Eduardo closed Mark’s hand around the key and smiled brightly. “So that’s why.”

“I suppose that is an acceptable reason,” Mark said, forcing himself not to smile.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Eduardo promised, leaning in closer. “I promise.”

“We should buy a bed,” Mark said. Eduardo burst into laughter and tugged Mark into his arms.


End file.
